The Dog Rescue fundraiser went well. I had my first hecklers, a canine and a human. But I handled the human heckler pretty easily. I don’t know where the guy got the idea from my routine that I don’t like men. But that he did. I had just finished part of my set and he said “sounds like you’re a man hater”. Seriously? I said to him. No, I love men, I went on. In fact, how old are you. When he refused to say his girlfriend answered for him. 29 she said. So I did my cougar claw thing and and said, that’s my cougar pick up line. The crowd laughed, he looked rather embarrassed and a few minutes later got up and left. About that time a dog started barking. Couldn’t handle the canine heckler. I just talked louder.
I have a hard time wrapping my head around the fact that some people don’t like dogs. How can you not like a dog? For one thing, they love you no matter what you do. They don’t gossip and tell lies about you; they don’t discard you for another human; they smile at all your jokes, they sit quietly by and listen when you tell them about your day. And they are genuinely glad to see you when you walk in the door…and you don’t have to cook supper for them to get that appreciation.
I have had lots of dogs in my life. Each one brought something unique. Sort of like people really. When I was a little girl our dogs were always outside dogs. I think the thought of a dog in the house with 5 kids was just too much for my mom to handle.
We had an Irish Setter at one time who was so lovable but the dumbest dog I think we ever owned. His name was Red Riley but we called him Red. He was an outside dog but he would try to come inside anytime the door opened. When my parents moved to Kingfisher, they left Jimmy and I in the house for a few months while it was on the market. We had to keep the house clean and sparkling at all times because the realtor would show up to show it with no notice. One cold snowy day, Red was on the porch and crying. I knew he was cold and so I let him in the house. I went to do something and when I came back to the living room there was blood everywhere. On the carpet, on the walls, on the furniture. Seems Red had a bad cut on his paw that had frozen over. When he came inside and thawed out, the cut began to bleed. A lot. The cut was on a blood vessel or something (my scientific mind kicking in here) because it would spurt out a stream of blood, then stop, then spurt out more blood. I ran and got towels and wrapped him up in them, loaded him into my car and took off for the vet where his paw was stitched. When I arrived back home, the realtors car and a police car were in the driveway. She had come to show the house and seeing the blood splattered everywhere and not finding me or Jimmy home had assumed that we had met with foul play. We had to replace the carpet because there was a lot of blood. And Red stayed outside after that.
When my boys were around 8 and 10 we saw two beagles in a ditch one day while driving home. We simply couldn’t drive by and let them be. So we picked them up and put them into the van. It felt so good to rescue these poor, pitiful, starving, tic covered dogs. We dipped them, fed them and gave them a cool drink of water. Once that was done I hoped they would continue on their way. The next morning, Andy jumped out of bed rather than having to be dragged and ran outside to see if the Beagles were still there. They were much to my annoyance. I went inside and found the newspaper’s phone number to place an ad and find them a home. I took the boys to school and all day long I kept looking outside, hoping that they would run off on their own. And the thought hit me that a lot of times we reach out to help the needy. We donate clothes to Goodwill or food to the food pantry or even a word of encouragement to someone down on their luck…but then hope they will magically “go away”. How often have we agreed to help with a project and then find and excuse to put it off on someone else’s shoulders. When I used to do Meals on Wheels I would vow that the next time I deleiverd I would bring something to cheer up the elderly people (besides the food), or that I would go back after finishing my route to have that chat the one older lady so desperately wanted to have. Or see those grandkid photos that Mr. Jones wanted me to sit and look at. But once I delivered the food, I would drive home and forget about those people pretty much…..after all wasn’t it enough that I had given some of my time to deliver a meal?
What if God operated that way? What if he was strong and committed when we are weak and needy but once we commit our lives to him, he sent us on our way. I certainly wouldn’t want that.
When my kids were little we would spend weeks around Christmas time making little gift sacks to take to the nursing home in Kingfisher. We would fill the sacks, take them to the nursing home, sing a few carols and head for home. What a relief it would be to be in the car heading away from that place with its smells and its sadness. I would think, well at least we did something. Isn’t that enough?
The reality is that caring for the hurting and needy means exposing ourselves to their pain. Empathy comes at a price. How difficult it is sometimes to be content when I know others are struggling. I visited a battered woman shelter one day to talk to them about hope. When I left, I just felt terrible. I hurt for those women because I knew firsthand their pain. And I felt guilty for having so much when they had so little. But then a friend said to me, you shouldn’t feel guilty for having so much; you should feel grateful.
And I am grateful. Even though sometimes I struggle, I am truly grateful for all that God has blessed me with. Yet, to be honest, I am not really satisfied. Even with all I have, there is always one more thing I need for my life to be “perfect”. Today, I need for my house to sell so I can have a financial burden off my shoulders. I have a wonderful life, I love my job, I’m using my talent; but I long for someone to share that with. Every time one need is met, another takes its place.
And so it goes with the world. For every puppy I rescue and find a home, there are more waiting to be cared for. For every person I deliver a meal to, there are several more that are on a waiting list. For every person I am able to console, there are more that need a friend. So I have to be content with the little that I can do and hope that no matter how small the gesture, it meant something to someone.
I found those puppies a home. And I continued to rescue strays and clean them up and find them homes when we lived in the country. Because they all seemed to find their way to my house. It wasn’t until I tried to rescue a stray Yorkie one day and ended up having to have the rabies series of shots that I stopped doing that.
The last week or so my classmates from 1976 have been posting mini auto-biographies of their lives and what they’ve been up to since high school. There is nothing quite like reading about people who are your peers who are dedicating their lives in fields of work that serve others to make you think, what am I doing to make an impact on this world. From Stan who is a missionary in Bogato Columbia, to Elizabeth who is very active in the political process, to Bob the scientist, to Deb the traveling nurse. So many more and so much giving from a relatively small group of people.
I am determined to re-structure my life so that I have time and energy to give back. It may be a small gesture but the old adage is true, every little bit counts. I’m ready to be counted.
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