It’s been so long since I’ve checked in here that, if I were to bring any animals at all to this site, these would be the most appropriate choice.
But another species has been on my mind. And I daresay you’ll be relieved to hear about anything other than politics right about now. Some of you have been doggedly —oh, my topic slipped out– following all the mostly dreary news of late; you need a break.
So, trying to be more than just a wool gatherer but right at this moment thinking that wool gathering alone isn’t all that bad, here I go.
To rescue; to be rescued; or to just keep calm while destruction and transformation happens all around you? This, for some dogs, is the question.
Currently, our Rocky is taking the third option. Not to say he’s choosing the third option, because it wasn’t his idea to tear down a wall in the kitchen, pull up flooring and take out all the appliances.
But he is tolerating all of this.
He is being what you might call a “good sport.” So is my bishop husband, who is managing to stay in the house without any hope of making a meal; do his job; stay in step with the contractor; and care for Rocky, who — let’s be honest — must miss me terribly. I have temporarily re-located to an undisclosed location closer to my place of work, mostly because my work is demanding enough without an added layer of evening challenges.
But back to the dogs. In a stroke a good fortune, we found Rocky 10 years ago at a shelter when he was just a pup. His mother, a German Shepherd we never knew, was apparently herself rescued when she came into the shelter, making the course of her life very different from others of her species who have been enlisted by humans into doing some heroic rescuing of their own.
You can see both intelligence and determination both in those eyes.
Meanwhile, in the past few years especially, we’ve all heard happy stories of families adopting dogs from places where natural disasters have occurred or where they have just never received good care, for a variety of reasons. To use one of my mother’s favorite words, these adoption tales are truly “heartwarming.”
And just in the past couple of weeks, I’ve learned of two dogs, with names very similar to mine, who have each come through dark years of suffering into the bright sunshine of now having they everything they need.
Here is Molly, off the streets of Brooklyn and into the home of my brother Mike and his wife Sally.
Those eyes say something about pain endured and the effort it takes to learn to trust again. It will take some time, Molly, but you are already basking in daily comforts and all the long walks you want.
And then, about 250 miles north, a dog named Holly with such soft fur is settling into her new life with good friends of ours (another clergy family) in New Hampshire. She came all the way from Puerto Rico and responds best to Spanish directives.
In her previous life, she was constantly intimidated by other big male dogs and had to learn to stand up — literally, that’s what she does sometimes. Rocky hasn’t met her yet, but I’m sure they’ll enjoy a good romp soon.
So, from where I sit anyway, whether a dog becomes a rescuer or is rescued or is simply bearing up pretty darn well, there is much to celebrate about their lives. To use a recent vocabulary word from my classes, everything these dogs are doing — and everything your beloved animals are doing, too– is happening concurrently with everything that’s going on in the relentless and often bewildering national news cycle. In mid-winter, that alone brings me some comfort. I hope it does to ewe, too.
Barb
Love it!