Spot
A Dog’s Tail of Survival

Since Elaine and I walk every day through Raymond, we see a lot of animals. The ones who are hungry, we feed, and the others who are better off, we pet. On our walks, we used to encounter a medium sized black and white dog who was always traveling, like some male dogs do. He seemed fairly street wise, so we figured he would be OK.  Then one afternoon, I looked out into my front yard, and there was Spot, lying on his side, close to the road. It was obvious that he had been hit by a car, even though he didn’t have any wounds. So I called the police department, and a nice officer showed up to access the situation. Shortly after, a live cage trap was set down in my front yard, and they tried to lure the dog into the cage with food. Sure enough, Spot went slowly into the cage, but he was very careful not to set off the spring that would close the door behind him. Smart dog. He got the food and backed out. After numerous attempts, they finally got hold of him and that was the last time we saw him for a while. When we changed our walking route, we went by a house in Main Street and discovered Spot had a collar on that made him stay in the yard. At first, we weren’t really sure if it was him because he was much fatter than the last time we saw him.

When we went by the house the other day, there was a couple in the yard and we asked if this was the same dog that wandered around town. They said it was and then told us the story about how they adopted him.

Apparently, Spot had somehow lodged a twig or branch up between his upper teeth. He was so weak, that he just stayed on their porch for a couple of days. Finally, the good people took him to the vet and discovered why he was so weak. He couldn’t eat. The vet removed to stick and he recovered.

Now, he sits in a yard full of toys, and he gets to sleep with his adopted family every night. What could be better than a happy ending like this!

Over the years, I have read and re-read many of the essays in Sarah Ban Breathnach’s book, Simple Abundance. A Daybook of Comfort and Joy. It’s a wonderful collection of essays for each day of the year. One of the most poignant entries is the one for November 26. When I am weary of the world, I re-read this and it always brings me comfort, especially during those nights when I can’t sleep.

"Rx For Harried Hearts and Frazzled Minds"
by Sarah Ban Breathnach,. Simple Abundance, November 26

      "Some nights waves of weariness beat against out brains, crash against our hearts, wash over our bodies, threatening to erode our best defenses like sand dunes upon the shore. The water is cold, dark, and deep....Nothing seems to hold back the tide. We need someone to throw us a line, to rescue us from drowning in disappointment.

      When these nights come and I find I'm stranded alone on the beach of faltering belief, I have found refuge in a very centering and comforting prayer by Dame Julian of Norwich, a thirteenth-century English mystic:

All shall be well,
And all shall be well,
And all manner of things shall be well.

      This simple affirmation of faith is especially comforting because it seems to console the dark submerged sadnesses of the inexplicable, the unexpressed, the unresolved, the unfair and the undeniable that stalk my soul after I close my eyes. I'll say the prayer over and over again softly, under my breath like a mantra, not trying to understand the meaning of the words because I can't. Some mysteries are beyond our comprehension. Some mysteries we will never solve. Never know.

      So instead of trying to make sense of it all, I'll simply let the Spirit of the words soothe my frazzled mind and harried heart until sleep comes. Sometimes we can't make sense of it. Sometimes none of it makes sense. Sometimes it just is. But if we can hold on long enough for this night to give way to another day, all shall be well, even if it's different from what we had expected. Even if it's different from what we had hoped for and believed with all out hearts would happen.

All shall be well,
And all shall be well,
And all manner of things shall be well."

Well, it has been a few day after DoWe DontWe flew to birdy heaven. She was ceremoniously buried under the great oak, which is also known as Bird Boot Hill. All her relatives are buried there. Matty McScrew Loose, Slim Dusty, and Governor Huey P. Long. Her sister, Louisiana (better known as Wheezy) died in California before we made the great migration south.

Now I have one parakeet left, and his name is Lavender Larry. Larry is an English Parakeet and although he’s beautiful, there isn’t much going on upstairs in Larry’s mind. I took Larry out of the big cage and gave him a smaller one and then moved him into my bedroom so he would have company. At first I thought he might be mourning DoWe, because he wouldn’t eat or drink. I tried everything I could think of, but after two days, I was getting desperate. As a last resort, I put him back in the big cage, and suddenly he came to life. I then realized that he recognized his feed cup. The cup I had in the smaller cage went uneaten because Larry didn’t view it as food. He also took a big drink of water out of the water dispenser. I know now that I will never be able to change his feed and water containers. And it looks like he’ll have that big cage all to himself. The best part of the story is – he started singing again. I actually think he doesn’t miss DoWe at all. In fact, he’s delighted and kissing the bird in the mirror. Who’d have thought...

                                                    Another Small Death in the Family

As I sit and write this, there is a small green parakeet named DoWe DontWe who is dying. I’ve had her for many years. In fact, she was hatched in my house in California and survived the drive from there to Mississippi. She looks just like her father. From the time she emerged from the nest, she has hated me, no matter hard I have tried all these years, she still hates me. Now female parakeets are known for being mean, but this one takes the cake. At this point, she is on the bottom of the cage, all puffed up. I would like to hold her and comfort her while she dies, but she will have none of that. I can only watch and wait – keep a vigil. I’m sure she will die some time tonight. So all I can whisper to her is: Heron, fly you home.

Politically Correct in the United States

I went to the gym this morning and saw a Pentecostal woman using the treadmill in a long skirt down to her ankles. My first question was – is she aware that if her skirt got caught in the machinery, she could be thrown off the treadmill and injure herself, maybe badly? I know from first hand experience. I tripped on the treadmill, was tossed off the machine and landed about 4 feet from the back of it. It was painful. I can promise you I won’t do that again.  Besides that, the gym could be sued. There are signs all over the building requiring proper dress. There’s a reason for this. No one made this up because they wanted to offend you. They want to make you safe.

Driving home from the gym, I started to think about other religions who have strict rules about dress. I started to think about all the different waves of immigrants who came to the United States. My grandmother used to tell me how the next wave was hated by the others who were already here. In order to fit in, these immigrants assimilated themselves into society so the hate would die down and they could lead productive lives and have good neighbors. Whatever you did in private at home, was your own business. There is religious freedom in this country, but it doesn’t belong on the outside where you are encountering multiple cultures on a daily basis. There has to be some ground rules that are acceptable to all of us in order to get along. Our Bill of Rights clearly states separation of church and state. There is a very good reason for this. It stops people from killing each other in the name of God. You can’t and shouldn’t push your religion down someone else’s throat.

That’s not how it works.

So please, everybody, if you are going to live in this country, you are going to have to make many compromises. We all have. I have Muslim women friends who wear very modest clothing and I admire them for doing so. They fit into society and don’t wear black robes. I think the Pentecostal lady should wear pants at the gym. Is that too much to ask?

Oh the Acorns of My Acorns!

This year has been a bumper crop for acorns. There is a Live Oak on our front property that embraces the house with its long limbs. And the tree has rained down acorns by the millions. For the past two weeks, we have listened to the roof being pelted with them, all through the night, and especially when it got windy. The oak trees in the back of the house have created slippery surfaces for walking. It’s like trying to balance yourself on ball bearings. Just getting to the neighbor’s house can be hazardous. In the morning, when I walk, there are so many acorns on the side of the road that I had to change the route because walking on the grass under the oak trees was too dangerous. With the cars going by at that time of morning, trying to deliver their children to the elementary school, I was afraid that I would roll out into the street and get run over by a frantic parent.

Ugh! Too Many Sit Ups 

Yesterday, I went to the gym by myself, after my gym partner backed out. Feeling rather sanctimonious, I congratulated myself for being so disciplined and proceeded to attack my routine with great vigor. I was at the gym and she was not! As a special challenge, I resorted to a former routine that included the ab machine. It has been some months since I used this in my regular routine, but I was surprised just how easy it was. So I did an extra 15 reps. Boy, was that a mistake. When I tried to get up out of a chair the next day, I couldn’t. Oh, man, what was I thinking. It was a humbling experience. Maybe next time my gym partner poops out on me, I’ll use better judgement.