Monday, November 22, 2010

This story kind of touched my heart. Please remember it when I get old!


CHEYENNE
By Catherine Moore



'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 a bout 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. 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 suddenl y 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 pointerCheyenne . 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. '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. Life is too short for drama & petty things, so laugh hard, love truly and forgive quickly. Live While You Are Alive. Tell the people you love that you love them, at every opportunity. Forgive now those who made you cry. You might not get a second time.



And if you don't send this to at least 4 people - who cares? But do share this with someone. Lost time can never be found.

Tuesday, November 02, 2010

Well, I started Curves a week ago. I had kind of plateaued with the Wii Fit, so I'm going to try to do better. I really want to get it better shape! I hope you are all well!

Monday, September 13, 2010

I am asking for all of your help! Please keep your eyes open for something you think would work for our tree. The theme this year is A Patchwork Christmas and our colors will be red and green. Golds will be fine as well. My first thought is to have some kind of patchwork hearts as ornaments on the tree. We also need items for around the tree and tree skirt. Does anyone know of a pre-lit 7 1/2 tree that can be donated. We can buy one if necessary, but a donated one would leave us more to spend on the tree. Please, if you see something that you think will work, send me a picture on my cell phone, 801-512-5838. Also, if you want to help decorate, that is on November 29th at the SouthTowne Center in Sandy. Let me know if you have any questions.

Thanks

Monday, July 12, 2010

Way too long!

Life keeps catching up and I realize it's been way too long since my last blog. I don't really have much to say, except I'm busy.
My daughter, Stephanie let us know that her Brother in Law, Scott had died on Friday night of an apparent drug overdose. He had been doing better after dealing with an addiction to pain killers, and was even at a camp-out for members of a Narcotics Anonymous Group he belonged to. It has devastated their whole family. My love and prayers go out to the as they struggle to deal with this loss. Scott, I know you are now free from your trials.

Monday, May 03, 2010

Here's a great blog to follow!

This Blog is for the Salt Lake County Healthy Lifestyles program, but it is wonderful. It has some fantastic ideas to increase your wellness in every area of your life!

http://taylib2.blogspot.com

Wednesday, March 03, 2010

One of my favorite quotes!

Our Deepest Fear
by Marianne Williamson

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.

It is our light, not our darkness, that frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be?

You are a child of God.

Your playing small doesn’t serve the world. There’s nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you.

We were all born to manifest the glory of God within us. It’s not just some of us; it’s in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.

As we are liberated from our fear,
our presence automatically liberates others.

-Marianne Williamson from her bestselling book A Return to Love

Thursday, January 28, 2010

It's been a while...

I just realized how long it's been since I've posted on my blog. There's been a lot going on. A lot of people have died that I knew, and it's made me much more aware of the condition of my body. I am now using a Wii Fit to exercise most every day. It's fun and good for me, too! I am also trying to eat better, like more fruits and vegetables and less fatty food. Also less portions. I am signed up with the County's Wellness campaign to keep me motivated. I know it's not doing me any good to keep all the extra weight on, so I am doing some things to change that. Life goes on in the Library and at home. Our upstairs bathroom is being remodeled and I am excited to see the finished product! I am sure it will be beautiful!!!!!