Get out your kleenex before you read this one: It's another email that came into my inbox from a friend. It's quite long, but a very sweet story.
>
> THE OLD MAN AND HIS 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 doctors
> 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, Rick , 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 Rick. We began to bicker and argue.
>
> Alarmed, Rick 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.
>
> A raindrop struck my cheek. I looked up into the
> gray sky. Somewhere up there was "God." Although I
> believe a Supreme Being had created the universe, I
> had difficulty believing that God cared about the
> tiny human beings on this earth.
>
> I was tired of waiting for a God who did not answer.
>
>
> 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 in vain to each of the sympathetic voices
> that answered.
>
> 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 Rick, 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 Rick 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. "Be not
> forgetful to entertain strangers..."
>
> "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.
> ~by Catherine Moore~
>
>
