During the course of my lifetime, I have been privileged to own four precious pooches. Amazingly, the first one, a cocker spaniel named “Princess,” went on to her heavenly reward a full sixty years hence. (And yes, I’m convinced believers will see their beloved pets again). It was only in the past two decades that I have renewed my relationship with dogs, and three more, “Buddy,” “Lucy,” and “Queenie” have enhanced my life on this planet. I am sorry to say that my second and third cuddly canines have long since joined Princess on the other side of the Rainbow Bridge, and my current pooch has entered what may be the last couple of years of her life on earth.
Lately, Queenie has experienced an eye infection which has caused her left eye to ooze, and leaves a small crusty deposit in the fur beneath it. As a result, I recently had her evaluated by a veterinarian. The vet theorized the deplorable state of Queenie’s teeth was the major culprit; since a nasal cavity connects the mouth, nose and eye sockets of all mammals. As a result, I decided to have one bad tooth pulled, and to allow the doctor to clean the remaining teeth. (At least, this was the theory; before a subsequent examination).
Yesterday was the day. Having been instructed to be at the clinic at 8am, the sun was still low on the horizon when I loaded Queenie up, and drove her to the animal clinic. Pulling into a space, I realized I was a wee bit early, and I waited the requisite eight or ten minutes.
Unloading my precious pooch from the car I proceeded to walk her in the aroma-rich grass surrounding the building. To say my dear little Shih Tzu enjoyed her momentary ‘constitutional’ would have been a vast understatement, indeed. I think it may go down as a “highlight of her twilight.”
Pt. 2
The veterinary assistant was apparently running late, as Queenie and I were the only living occupants of the parking lot, my automobile the only inanimate vehicle, (aren’t they all) and the ‘Closed’ sign still hung inside the glass door.
Suddenly, a car slowed, turned into the parking lot, and pulled into an adjoining space. Obviously, not a clinic employee. I found myself looking into the troubled eyes of a middle-aged woman. She smiled a thin smile, and I returned the gesture. Normally, I would not have attempted a conversation, but since I happened to be ‘constitutionalizing’ my precious pooch, and in the proximity of the other vehicle, I said,
“Hi there. I guess the employees are running late. My little Queenie is having a tooth pulled and her teeth cleaned today.”
My momentary friend seemed pre-occupied with her thoughts, but the teary-eyed lady responded with,
“My little ‘Cooper’ is being put to sleep this morning.”
Having lost three previous pooches, her words struck me to the core. And having involuntarily paused for effect, she continued.
“I’ve only had him a few months, and he was due to be vaccinated for a couple of common diseases. Unfortunately, before I could get him to the clinic, he came down with Parvo. It turns out five other dogs on our street have gotten it, and have since died of it.”
(and)
“Cooper weighed 55 pounds before he came down with the virus. He’s down to 28 pounds, and the vet hasn’t been able to do anything to help him.”
Pt. 3
With this, I peered into the half-opened back window of the automobile. I found myself looking into the mournful eyes of what appeared to be a chocolate lab.
I recently published a little volume entitled, “A Man’s Tribute to His Beloved Dogs,” and one primary implication in the book is the innate intelligence of canines, and their ability to “understand what’s going on.” Perhaps they comprehend much more about the import of human speech than we possibly imagine. I believe the precious pooch in the back seat knew what was about to befall him. He just knew.
I turned my gaze away from the hopeless animal in the back of the old sedan, and without a word, I extended my right hand towards the woman. And without so much as a word, she returned the gesture. (Strange, I almost placed my hand on her forehead, as a sort of blessing, and have done so in the past, but this inclination seemed a bit too forward). At any rate, my anything, but premeditated behavior had little or nothing to do with the usual connotation of a handshake; since we had not ‘til then, (nor did we ever) introduce ourselves to one another.
The milk of human compassion. There is just something about touch which conveys an underlying emotion, and cognitive affirmation, like nothing else can do; whether a handshake, a hug, or an arm around the shoulder.
I had ‘been there’ and nothing conjures up the requisite understanding and subsequent response, more so than having been there. And before each of us withdrew our hands to our own persons, I verbally expressed my understanding.
“I can feel your pain. My first pooch crossed the Rainbow Bridge sixty years ago.”
My newfound friend seemed surprised. I like to think I look younger than my years. (I guess staying away from mirrors helps perpetuate this myth).
Pt. 4
Having done what I could, and since about this time the clinic door was opened to me, I strode through the portal with my twelve pound Shih Tzu in hand.
And having been summoned to Exam Room 1, released my pooch to the care of the clinician, and kissed Queenie on the top of her furry noggin, I completed a couple pages of paperwork and departed the premises.
I had no sooner gotten home than I received a call from the clinic.
“Dr. McDonald, Queenie is just fine. Not to worry, but she is going to have to have all her teeth extracted. A couple are badly decayed and the others are marginal and will need to come out soon.”
When I saw the number for the vet come up, I immediately thought the worst; since anaesthesia can sometimes “do a number” on dogs and cats, and they don’t always come through surgery successfully.
I asked how many remaining teeth Queenie ‘owned,’ and was surprised to understand that only six of the original forty-two remained in her mouth. (One of them had recently fallen out when she was eating, but I had no idea)!
With this, the vet assured me my precious pooch would be able to consume soft food, the kind I was already giving her, and we completed our discussion. Later, I received word from the clinic that my dog was ready for pick up, and I summarily retrieved her.
In the past 24 hours, Queenie has experienced some pain and the contour of her jawline has considerably altered her appearance. Whereas, it is generally difficult to ascertain the age of Shih Tzu’s, there’s just something about a toothless dog that might convince you otherwise. Nonetheless, I am grateful, and I will continue to enjoy the company of my faithful little companion.
No doubt, my momentary friend from yesterday would have gladly tolerated a toothless dog, …rather than the lack thereof.
I’m convinced that our meeting was Providential, like many other scenarios with which I have been involved over the years. I pray every day that God will give me the gift of what I refer to as “momentary ministry;” the opportunity to touch and encourage another human being in an unexpected and seemingly circumstantial manner. Circumstantial to you and me, but I have little doubt that such opportunities to bless our fellow men and women, boys and girls were known and planned by God
…before He made the worlds.
by William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from (Mc)Donald's Daily Diary, Vol. 35. Copyright Pending.
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