Hello Delma, This story brot me to tears. I guess it just shows what prayer and God and animals can do. I will keep this one. Thank you for sending this. It's just so sad and also beautifull. So thank you Delma. Original message:
> this is long, but worth the time, > Delma > Cheyenne, the dog > Watch out! You nearly broad sided that car! My father yelled at me. > 'Can't you do anything right?' > Those words hurt worse than blows. I turned my head toward the elderly man > in the seat beside me, daring me to challenge him. A lump rose in my throat > as > I averted my eyes. I wasn't prepared for another battle. "I saw the car, > Dad. Please don't yell at me when I'm driving.' > My voice was measured and steady, sounding far calmer than I really felt. > Dad glared at me, then turned away and settled back. At home I left Dad in > front of the television and went outside to collect my thoughts. Dark, heavy > clouds hung in the air with a promise of rain. The rumble of distant thunder > seemed to echo my inner turmoil. What could I do about him? > Dad had been a lumberjack in Washington and Oregon . He had enjoyed being > outdoors and had reveled in pitting his strength against the forces of > nature. > He had entered grueling lumberjack competitions, and had placed often. The > shelves in his house were filled with trophies that attested to his prowess. > The years marched on relentlessly. The first time he couldn't lift a heavy > log, he joked about it; but later that same day I saw him outside alone, > straining > to lift it. He became irritable whenever anyone teased him about his > advancing age, or when he couldn't do something he had done as a younger > man. > Four days after his sixty-seventh birthday, he had a heart attack. An > ambulance sped him to the hospital while a paramedic administered CPR to > keep blood > and oxygen flowing. > At the hospital, Dad was rushed into an operating room. He was lucky; he > survived. But something inside Dad died. His zest for life was gone. He > obstinately > refused to follow doctor's orders. Suggestions and offers of help were > turned aside with sarcasm and insults. The number of visitors thinned, then > finally > stopped altogether. Dad was left alone. > My husband, Dick, and I asked Dad to come live with us on our small farm. We > hoped the fresh air and rustic atmosphere would help him adjust. > Within a week after he moved in, I regretted the invitation. It seemed > nothing was satisfactory. He criticized everything I did. I became > frustrated and > moody. Soon I was taking my pent-up anger out on Dick. We began to bicker > and argue. > Alarmed, Dick sought out our pastor and explained the situation. The > clergyman set up weekly counseling appointments for us. At the close of each > session > he prayed, asking God to soothe Dad's troubled mind. > But the months wore on and God was silent. Something had to be done and it > was up to me to do it. > The next day I sat down with the phone book and methodically called each of > the mental health clinics listed in the Yellow Pages. I explained my problem > to each of the sympathetic voices that answered in vain. > Just when I was giving up hope, one of the voices suddenly exclaimed, 'I > just read something that might help you! Let me go get the article.' > I listened as she read. The article described a remarkable study done at a > nursing home. All of the patients were under treatment for chronic > depression. > Yet their attitudes had improved dramatically when they were given > responsibility for a dog. > I drove to the animal shelter that afternoon. After I filled out a > questionnaire, a uniformed officer led me to the kennels. The odor of > disinfectant stung > my nostrils as I moved down the row of pens. Each contained five to seven > dogs. Long-haired dogs, curly-haired dogs, black dogs, spotted dogs all > jumped > up, trying to reach me. I studied each one but rejected one after the other > for various reasons too big, too small, too much hair. As I neared the last > pen a dog in the shadows of the far corner struggled to his feet, walked to > the front of the run and sat down. It was a pointer, one of the dog world's > aristocrats. But this was a caricature of the breed. > Years had etched his face and muzzle with shades of gray. His hipbones > jutted out in lopsided triangles. But it was his eyes that caught and held > my attention. > Calm and clear, they beheld me unwaveringly. I pointed to the dog. 'Can you > tell me about him?' The officer looked, then shook his head in puzzlement. > 'He's a funny one. Appeared out of nowhere and sat in front of the gate. We > brought him in, figuring someone would be right down to claim him. That was > two weeks ago and we've heard nothing. His time is up tomorrow.' He gestured > helplessly. As the words sank in I turned to the man in horror. 'You mean > you're going to kill him?' 'Ma'am,' he said gently, 'that's our policy. We > don't have room for every unclaimed dog.' I looked at the pointer again. The > calm brown eyes awaited my decision. 'I'll take him,' I said. > I drove home with the dog on the front seat beside me. When I reached the > house I honked the horn twice. I was helping my prize out of the car when > Dad > shuffled onto the front porch. 'Ta-da! Look what I got for you, Dad!' I said > excitedly. > Dad looked, then wrinkled his face in disgust. 'If I had wanted a dog I > would have gotten one. And I would have picked out a better specimen than > that bag > of bones. Keep it! I don't want it' Dad waved his arm scornfully and turned > back toward the house. Anger rose inside me. It squeezed together my throat > muscles and pounded into my temples. 'You'd better get used to him, Dad. > He's staying!' Dad ignored me. 'Did you hear me, Dad?' I screamed. At those > words > Dad whirled angrily, his hands clenched at his sides, his eyes narrowed and > blazing with hate. We stood glaring at each other like duelists, when > suddenly > the pointer pulled free from my grasp. He wobbled toward my dad and sat down > in front of him. Then slowly, carefully, he raised his paw. Dad's lower jaw > trembled as he stared at the uplifted paw. Confusion replaced the anger in > his eyes. The pointer waited patiently. Then Dad was on his knees hugging > the > animal. It was the beginning of a warm and intimate friendship. Dad named > the pointer Cheyenne . Together he and Cheyenne explored the community. They > spent long hours walking down dusty lanes. They spent reflective moments on > the banks of streams, angling for tasty trout. They even started to attend > Sunday services together, Dad sitting in a pew and Cheyenne lying quietly at > his feet. > Dad and Cheyenne were inseparable throughout the next three years. Dad's > bitterness faded, and he and Cheyenne made many friends. Then late one night > I > was startled to feel Cheyenne 's cold nose burrowing through our bed covers. > He had never before come into our bedroom at night. I woke Dick, put on my > robe and ran into my father's room. Dad lay in his bed, his face serene. But > his spirit had left quietly sometime during the night. Two days later my > shock > and grief deepened when I discovered Cheyenne lying dead beside Dad's bed. I > wrapped his still form in the rag rug he had slept on. As Dick and I buried > him near a favorite fishing hole, I silently thanked the dog for the help he > had given me in restoring Dad's peace of mind. > The morning of Dad's funeral dawned overcast and dreary. This day looks like > the way I feel, I thought, as I walked down the aisle to the pews reserved > for family. I was surprised to see the many friends Dad and Cheyenne had > made filling the church. The pastor began his eulogy. It was a tribute to > both > Dad and the dog who had changed his life. And then the pastor turned to > Hebrews 13:2. 'Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by this > some > have entertained angels without knowing it.''I've often thanked God for > sending that angel,' he said. For me, the past dropped into place, > completing a > puzzle that I had not seen before: the sympathetic voice that had just read > the right article... Cheyenne 's unexpected appearance at the animal > shelter. > . ..his calm acceptance and complete devotion to my father. . and the > proximity of their deaths. And suddenly I understood. I knew that God had > answered > my prayers after all. Life is too short for drama & petty things, so laugh > hard, love truly and forgive quickly. Live While You Are Alive. Forgive now > those who made you cry. You might not get a second time. > do share this with someone. Lost time can never be found. > -- Email services provided by the System Access Mobile Network. Visit www.serotek.com to learn more about accessibility anywhere. --~--~---------~--~----~------------~-------~--~----~ Access the Recipes And More list archives at: http://www.mail-archive.com/recipesandmore%40googlegroups.com/ Visit the group home page at: http://groups.google.com/group/RecipesAndMore -~----------~----~----~----~------~----~------~--~---
