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. Pt. 60. Copyright Pending.
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by William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from (Mc)Donald's Daily Diary. Pt. 60. Copyright Pending.
If you wish to share, save or copy, please include the credit line, above
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