To all my tree-hugging pups,
Being born in San Rafael and raised in Seattle, my roots are definitely rooted in environmental concerns and ensuring that I help in protecting the use of trees and ensuring that we recycle at all times!
OK, are you getting the picture yet? I like paper in just about any form. I know you might think this is a little nasty, but when I find "used tissus" in a waste basket, I recycle them.
I will either eat most of it which is one form of recycling or bring it to Dad to show him what I've found! He usually gets mad at me and takes it out of my mouth, with some trouble, since I don't let go of it very easily.
Dad found the evidence one day of a big chunk that I took ou of some coffee filters that I found sittiing on a desk. I wonder why those were sitting there, so I thought I would recycle them.
Dad really got made at me when he left his desk to go get some coffee and I saw a piece of tissue paper on his desk that was wrapped around a delicious-looking danish. It even had cream cheese in it. Well, to get to that paper, I had to EAT the danish first and when Dad came back with his coffee, there was the tissue paper on the floor that I was licking and he got real MAD!
Gosh, he tied me down under the desk and was furious! I wonder why? It was just a donut. Right?
I felt bad, but it was good. I never get good stuff like that to eat! Dad finally gave me a hug and said that he should not have put it there for me to consider eating.
Yes, I'm the Tissue Bandit! So they really keep an eye on waste baskets to try and keep me from checking them out and stealing the conttents for a snack.
Love to all, Miss Parka, La Tissue Bandido
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Sunday, October 11, 2009
The Old Man and His Dog - a great story!
Dad and I read this with our Window Eyes and it was so good that Dad and I cried. I think you will enjoy it. Pleasse share with your friends!
The Old Man and the Dog by Catherine Moore
"Watch out! You nearly broad sided that car!" My father yelled at me. "Can't you do anything right?" Those words hurt worse than blows. I turned my head toward the elderly man in the seat beside me, daring me to challenge him. A lump rose in my throat as I averted my eyes. I wasn't prepared for another battle. "I saw the car, Dad. Please don't yell at me when I'm driving." My voice was measured and steady, sounding far calmer than I really felt.Dad glared at me, then turned away and settled back. At home I left Dad in front of the television and went outside to collect my though ts. Dark, heavy clouds hung in the air with a promise of rain. The rumble of distant thunder seemed to echo my inner turmoil. What could I do about him?Dad had been a lumberjack in Washington and Oregon . He had enjoyed being outdoors and had reveled in pitting his strength against the forces of nature. He had entered grueling lumberjack competitions, and had placed often. The shelves in his house were filled with trophies that attested to his prowess. The years marched on relentlessly. The first time he couldn't lift a heavy log, he joked about it; but later that same day I saw him outside alone, straining to lift it. He became irrit able whenever anyone teased him about his advancing age, or when he couldn't do something he had done as a younger man. Four days after his sixty-seventh birthday, he had a heart attack. An ambulance sped him to the hospital while a paramedic administered CPR to keep blood and oxygen flowing. At the hospital, Dad was rushed into an operating room. He was lucky; he survived. But something inside Dad died. His zest for life was gone. He obstinately refused to follow doctor's orders. Suggestions and offers of help were turned aside with sarcasm and insults. The number of visitors thinned, then finally stopped altogether. Dad was left alone. My husband, Dick, and I asked Dad to come live with us on our small farm. We hoped the fresh air and rustic atmosphere would help him adjust. Within a week after he moved in, I regretted the invitation. It seemed nothing was satisfactory. He criticized everything I did. I became frustrated and moody. Soon I was taking my pent-up anger out on Dick. We began to bicker and argue. Alarmed, Dick sought out our pastor and explained the situation. The clergyman set up weekly counseling appointments for us. At the close of each session he prayed, asking God to soothe Dad's troubled mind. But the months wore on and God was silent. Something had to be done and it was up to me to do it. The next day I sat down with the phone book and methodically called each of the mental health clinics listed in the Yellow Pages. I explained my problem to each of t he sympathetic voices that answ ered. In vain. Just when I was giving up hope, one of the voices suddenly exclaimed, "I just read something that might help you! Let me go get the article." I listened as she read. The article described a remarkable study done at a nursing home. All of the patients were under treatment for chronic depression. Yet their attitudes had improved dramatically when they were given responsibility for a dog. I drove to the animal shelter that afternoon. After I filled out a questionnaire, a uniformed officer led me to the kennels. The odor of disinfectant stung my nostrils as I moved down the row of pens. Each contained five to seven dogs. Long-haired dogs, curly-haired dogs, black dogs, spotted dogs all jumped up, trying to reach me. I studied each one but rejected one after the other for various reasons: too big, too small, too much hair. As I neared the last pen a dog in t he shadows of the far corner struggled to his feet, walked to the front of the run and sat down. It was a pointer, one of the dog world's aristocrats. But this was a caricature of the breed. Years had etched his face and muzzle with shades of gray. His hipbones jutted out in lopsided triangles. But it was his eyes that caught and held my attention. Calm and clear, they beheld me unwaveringly. I pointed to the dog. "Can you tell me about him?" The officer looked, then shook his head in puzzlement."He's a funny one. Appeared out of nowhere and sat in front of the gate. We brought him in, figuring someone would be right down to claim him. That was two weeks ago and we've heard nothing. His time is up tomorrow." He gestured helplessly. As the words sank in I turned to the man in horror. "You mean you're going to kill him?""Ma'am," he said gently, "that's our policy. We don't have room for every unclaimed dog." I looked at the pointer again The calm brown eyes awaited my decision. "I'll take him," I said.I drove home with the dog on the front seat beside me. When I reached the house I honked the horn twice. I was helping my prize out of the car when Dad shuffled onto the front porch. "Ta-da! Look what I got for you, Dad!" I said excitedly.Dad looked, then wrinkled his face in disgust. "If I had wanted a dog I would have gotten one. And I would have picked out a better specimen than that bag of bones. Keep it! I don't want it" Dad waved his arm scornfully and turned back toward the house. Anger rose inside me It squeezed together my throat muscles and pounded into my temples."You'd better get used to him, Dad. He's staying!" Dad ignored me. "Did you hear me, Dad?" I screamed. At those words Dad whirled angrily, his hands clenched at his sides, his eyes narrowed and blazing with hate. We stood glaring at each other like duelists, when suddenly the pointer pulled free from my grasp. He wobbled toward my dad and sat down in front of him. Then slowly, carefully, he raised his paw.Dad's lower jaw trembled as he stared at the uplifted paw. Confusion replaced the anger in his eyes. The pointer waited patiently. Then Dad was on his knees hugging the animal. It was the beginning of a warm and intimate friendship. Dad named the pointer Cheyenne . Together he and Cheyenne explored the community. They spent long hours walking down dusty lanes. They spent reflective moments on the banks of streams, angling for tasty trout. They even started to attend Sunday services together, Dad sitting in a pew and Cheyenne lying quietly at his feet. Dad and Cheyenne were inseparable throughout the next three years. Dad's bitterness faded, and he and Cheyenne made many friends. Then late one night I was startled to feel Cheyenne 's cold nose burrowing through our bed covers. He had never before come into our bedroom at night. I woke Dick, put on my robe and ran into my father's room. Dad lay in his bed, his face serene. But his spirit had left quietly sometime during the night. Two days later my shock and grief deepened when I discovered Cheyenne lying dead beside Dad's bed. I wrapped his still form in the rag rug he had slept on. As Dick and I buried him near a favorite fishing hole, I silently thanked the dog for the help he had given me in restoring Dad's peace of mind. The morning of Dad's funeral dawned overcast and dreary. This day looks like the way I feel, I thought, as I walked down the aisle to the pews reserved for family. I was surprised to see the many friends Dad and Cheyenne had made filling the church. The pastor began his eulogy. It was a tribute to both Dad and the dog who had changed his life And then the pastor turned to Hebrews 13:2. "Be not forgetful to entertain strangers." "I've often thanked God for sending that angel," he said. For me, the past dropped into place, completing a puzzle that I had not seen before: the sympathetic voice that had just read the right article... Cheyenne's unexpected appearance at the animal shelter. .his calm acceptance and complete devotion to my father. . and the proximity of their deaths. And suddenly I understood. I knew that God had answered my prayers after all. Life is too short for drama & petty things, so laugh hard, love truly and forgive quickly. Live While You Are Alive.Tell the people you love that you love them, at every opportunity. Forgive now those who made you cry. You might not get a second time. And if you don't send this to at least 4 people - who cares?But do share this with someone. Lost time can never be found.No virus found in this incoming message.Checked by AVG Free Edition. Version: 7.5.516 / Virus Database: 269.17.13/1211 - Release Date: 1/6/2008 11:57 AMNo virus found in this incoming message.Checked by AVG Free Edition. Version: 7.5.516 / Virus Database: 269.17.13/1213 - Release Date: 1/7/2008 9:14 AM----------------------------------------------------------Lengthy but worth the time...we can all relate.The Old Man and the Dog by Catherine Moore "Watch out! You nearly broad sided that car!" My father yelled at me. "Can't you do anything right?" Those words hurt worse than blows. I turned my head toward the elderly man in the seat beside me, daring me to challenge him. A lump rose in my throat as I averted my eyes. I wasn't prepared for another battle. "I saw the car, Dad. Please don't yell at me when I'm driving." My voice was measured and steady, sounding far calmer than I really felt.Dad glared at me, then turned away and settled back. At home I left Dad in front of the television and went outside to collect my though ts. Dark, heavy clouds hung in the air with a promise of rain. The rumble of distant thunder seemed to echo my inner turmoil. What could I do about him?Dad had been a lumberjack in Washington and Oregon . He had enjoyed being outdoors and had reveled in pitting his strength against the forces of nature. He had entered grueling lumberjack competitions, and had placed often. The shelves in his house were filled with trophies that attested to his prowess. The years marched on relentlessly. The first time he couldn't lift a heavy log, he joked about it; but later that same day I saw him outside alone, straining to lift it. He became irrit able whenever anyone teased him about his advancing age, or when he couldn't do something he had done as a younger man. Four days after his sixty-seventh birthday, he had a heart attack. An ambulance sped him to the hospital while a paramedic administered CPR to keep blood and oxygen flowing. At the hospital, Dad was rushed into an operating room. He was lucky; he survived. But something inside Dad died. His zest for life was gone. He obstinately refused to follow doctor's orders. Suggestions and offers of help were turned aside with sarcasm and insults. The number of visitors thinned, then finally stopped altogether. Dad was left alone. My husband, Dick, and I asked Dad to come live with us on our small farm. We hoped the fresh air and rustic atmosphere would help him adjust. Within a week after he moved in, I regretted the invitation. It seemed nothing was satisfactory. He criticized everything I did. I became frustrated and moody. Soon I was taking my pent-up anger out on Dick. We began to bicker and argue. Alarmed, Dick sought out our pastor and explained the situation. The clergyman set up weekly counseling appointments for us. At the close of each session he prayed, asking God to soothe Dad's troubled mind. But the months wore on and God was silent. Something had to be done and it was up to me to do it. The next day I sat down with the phone book and methodically called each of the mental health clinics listed in the Yellow Pages. I explained my problem to each of t he sympathetic voices that answ ered. In vain. Just when I was giving up hope, one of the voices suddenly exclaimed, "I just read something that might help you! Let me go get the article." I listened as she read. The article described a remarkable study done at a nursing home. All of the patients were under treatment for chronic depression. Yet their attitudes had improved dramatically when they were given responsibility for a dog. I drove to the animal shelter that afternoon. After I filled out a questionnaire, a uniformed officer led me to the kennels. The odor of disinfectant stung my nostrils as I moved down the row of pens. Each contained five to seven dogs. Long-haired dogs, curly-haired dogs, black dogs, spotted dogs all jumped up, trying to reach me. I studied each one but rejected one after the other for various reasons: too big, too small, too much hair. As I neared the last pen a dog in t he shadows of the far corner struggled to his feet, walked to the front of the run and sat down. It was a pointer, one of the dog world's aristocrats. But this was a caricature of the breed. Years had etched his face and muzzle with shades of gray. His hipbones jutted out in lopsided triangles. But it was his eyes that caught and held my attention. Calm and clear, they beheld me unwaveringly. I pointed to the dog. "Can you tell me about him?" The officer looked, then shook his head in puzzlement."He's a funny one. Appeared out of nowhere and sat in front of the gate. We brought him in, figuring someone would be right down to claim him. That was two weeks ago and we've heard nothing. His time is up tomorrow." He gestured helplessly. As the words sank in I turned to the man in horror. "You mean you're going to kill him?""Ma'am," he said gently, "that's our policy. We don't have room for every unclaimed dog." I looked at the pointer again The calm brown eyes awaited my decision. "I'll take him," I said.I drove home with the dog on the front seat beside me. When I reached the house I honked the horn twice. I was helping my prize out of the car when Dad shuffled onto the front porch. "Ta-da! Look what I got for you, Dad!" I said excitedly.Dad looked, then wrinkled his face in disgust. "If I had wanted a dog I would have gotten one. And I would have picked out a better specimen than that bag of bones. Keep it! I don't want it" Dad waved his arm scornfully and turned back toward the house. Anger rose inside me It squeezed together my throat muscles and pounded into my temples."You'd better get used to him, Dad. He's staying!" Dad ignored me. "Did you hear me, Dad?" I screamed. At those words Dad whirled angrily, his hands clenched at his sides, his eyes narrowed and blazing with hate. We stood glaring at each other like duelists, when suddenly the pointer pulled free from my grasp. He wobbled toward my dad and sat down in front of him. Then slowly, carefully, he raised his paw.Dad's lower jaw trembled as he stared at the uplifted paw. Confusion replaced the anger in his eyes. The pointer waited patiently. Then Dad was on his knees hugging the animal. It was the beginning of a warm and intimate friendship. Dad named the pointer Cheyenne . Together he and Cheyenne explored the community. They spent long hours walking down dusty lanes. They spent reflective moments on the banks of streams, angling for tasty trout. They even started to attend Sunday services together, Dad sitting in a pew and Cheyenne lying quietly at his feet. Dad and Cheyenne were inseparable throughout the next three years. Dad's bitterness faded, and he and Cheyenne made many friends. Then late one night I was startled to feel Cheyenne 's cold nose burrowing through our bed covers. He had never before come into our bedroom at night. I woke Dick, put on my robe and ran into my father's room. Dad lay in his bed, his face serene. But his spirit had left quietly sometime during the night. Two days later my shock and grief deepened when I discovered Cheyenne lying dead beside Dad's bed. I wrapped his still form in the rag rug he had slept on. As Dick and I buried him near a favorite fishing hole, I silently thanked the dog for the help he had given me in restoring Dad's peace of mind. The morning of Dad's funeral dawned overcast and dreary. This day looks like the way I feel, I thought, as I walked down the aisle to the pews reserved for family. I was surprised to see the many friends Dad and Cheyenne had made filling the church. The pastor began his eulogy. It was a tribute to both Dad and the dog who had changed his life And then the pastor turned to Hebrews 13:2. "Be not forgetful to entertain strangers." "I've often thanked God for sending that angel," he said. For me, the past dropped into place, completing a puzzle that I had not seen before: the sympathetic voice that had just read the right article... Cheyenne's unexpected appearance at the animal shelter. .his calm acceptance and complete devotion to my father. . and the proximity of their deaths. And suddenly I understood. I knew that God had answered my prayers after all. Life is too short for drama & petty things, so laugh hard, love truly and forgive quickly. Live While You Are Alive.Tell the people you love that you love them, at every opportunity. Forgive now those who made you cry. You might not get a second time. And if you don't send this to at least 4 people - who cares?But do share this with someone. Lost time can never be found.
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The Old Man and the Dog by Catherine Moore
"Watch out! You nearly broad sided that car!" My father yelled at me. "Can't you do anything right?" Those words hurt worse than blows. I turned my head toward the elderly man in the seat beside me, daring me to challenge him. A lump rose in my throat as I averted my eyes. I wasn't prepared for another battle. "I saw the car, Dad. Please don't yell at me when I'm driving." My voice was measured and steady, sounding far calmer than I really felt.Dad glared at me, then turned away and settled back. At home I left Dad in front of the television and went outside to collect my though ts. Dark, heavy clouds hung in the air with a promise of rain. The rumble of distant thunder seemed to echo my inner turmoil. What could I do about him?Dad had been a lumberjack in Washington and Oregon . He had enjoyed being outdoors and had reveled in pitting his strength against the forces of nature. He had entered grueling lumberjack competitions, and had placed often. The shelves in his house were filled with trophies that attested to his prowess. The years marched on relentlessly. The first time he couldn't lift a heavy log, he joked about it; but later that same day I saw him outside alone, straining to lift it. He became irrit able whenever anyone teased him about his advancing age, or when he couldn't do something he had done as a younger man. Four days after his sixty-seventh birthday, he had a heart attack. An ambulance sped him to the hospital while a paramedic administered CPR to keep blood and oxygen flowing. At the hospital, Dad was rushed into an operating room. He was lucky; he survived. But something inside Dad died. His zest for life was gone. He obstinately refused to follow doctor's orders. Suggestions and offers of help were turned aside with sarcasm and insults. The number of visitors thinned, then finally stopped altogether. Dad was left alone. My husband, Dick, and I asked Dad to come live with us on our small farm. We hoped the fresh air and rustic atmosphere would help him adjust. Within a week after he moved in, I regretted the invitation. It seemed nothing was satisfactory. He criticized everything I did. I became frustrated and moody. Soon I was taking my pent-up anger out on Dick. We began to bicker and argue. Alarmed, Dick sought out our pastor and explained the situation. The clergyman set up weekly counseling appointments for us. At the close of each session he prayed, asking God to soothe Dad's troubled mind. But the months wore on and God was silent. Something had to be done and it was up to me to do it. The next day I sat down with the phone book and methodically called each of the mental health clinics listed in the Yellow Pages. I explained my problem to each of t he sympathetic voices that answ ered. In vain. Just when I was giving up hope, one of the voices suddenly exclaimed, "I just read something that might help you! Let me go get the article." I listened as she read. The article described a remarkable study done at a nursing home. All of the patients were under treatment for chronic depression. Yet their attitudes had improved dramatically when they were given responsibility for a dog. I drove to the animal shelter that afternoon. After I filled out a questionnaire, a uniformed officer led me to the kennels. The odor of disinfectant stung my nostrils as I moved down the row of pens. Each contained five to seven dogs. Long-haired dogs, curly-haired dogs, black dogs, spotted dogs all jumped up, trying to reach me. I studied each one but rejected one after the other for various reasons: too big, too small, too much hair. As I neared the last pen a dog in t he shadows of the far corner struggled to his feet, walked to the front of the run and sat down. It was a pointer, one of the dog world's aristocrats. But this was a caricature of the breed. Years had etched his face and muzzle with shades of gray. His hipbones jutted out in lopsided triangles. But it was his eyes that caught and held my attention. Calm and clear, they beheld me unwaveringly. I pointed to the dog. "Can you tell me about him?" The officer looked, then shook his head in puzzlement."He's a funny one. Appeared out of nowhere and sat in front of the gate. We brought him in, figuring someone would be right down to claim him. That was two weeks ago and we've heard nothing. His time is up tomorrow." He gestured helplessly. As the words sank in I turned to the man in horror. "You mean you're going to kill him?""Ma'am," he said gently, "that's our policy. We don't have room for every unclaimed dog." I looked at the pointer again The calm brown eyes awaited my decision. "I'll take him," I said.I drove home with the dog on the front seat beside me. When I reached the house I honked the horn twice. I was helping my prize out of the car when Dad shuffled onto the front porch. "Ta-da! Look what I got for you, Dad!" I said excitedly.Dad looked, then wrinkled his face in disgust. "If I had wanted a dog I would have gotten one. And I would have picked out a better specimen than that bag of bones. Keep it! I don't want it" Dad waved his arm scornfully and turned back toward the house. Anger rose inside me It squeezed together my throat muscles and pounded into my temples."You'd better get used to him, Dad. He's staying!" Dad ignored me. "Did you hear me, Dad?" I screamed. At those words Dad whirled angrily, his hands clenched at his sides, his eyes narrowed and blazing with hate. We stood glaring at each other like duelists, when suddenly the pointer pulled free from my grasp. He wobbled toward my dad and sat down in front of him. Then slowly, carefully, he raised his paw.Dad's lower jaw trembled as he stared at the uplifted paw. Confusion replaced the anger in his eyes. The pointer waited patiently. Then Dad was on his knees hugging the animal. It was the beginning of a warm and intimate friendship. Dad named the pointer Cheyenne . Together he and Cheyenne explored the community. They spent long hours walking down dusty lanes. They spent reflective moments on the banks of streams, angling for tasty trout. They even started to attend Sunday services together, Dad sitting in a pew and Cheyenne lying quietly at his feet. Dad and Cheyenne were inseparable throughout the next three years. Dad's bitterness faded, and he and Cheyenne made many friends. Then late one night I was startled to feel Cheyenne 's cold nose burrowing through our bed covers. He had never before come into our bedroom at night. I woke Dick, put on my robe and ran into my father's room. Dad lay in his bed, his face serene. But his spirit had left quietly sometime during the night. Two days later my shock and grief deepened when I discovered Cheyenne lying dead beside Dad's bed. I wrapped his still form in the rag rug he had slept on. As Dick and I buried him near a favorite fishing hole, I silently thanked the dog for the help he had given me in restoring Dad's peace of mind. The morning of Dad's funeral dawned overcast and dreary. This day looks like the way I feel, I thought, as I walked down the aisle to the pews reserved for family. I was surprised to see the many friends Dad and Cheyenne had made filling the church. The pastor began his eulogy. It was a tribute to both Dad and the dog who had changed his life And then the pastor turned to Hebrews 13:2. "Be not forgetful to entertain strangers." "I've often thanked God for sending that angel," he said. For me, the past dropped into place, completing a puzzle that I had not seen before: the sympathetic voice that had just read the right article... Cheyenne's unexpected appearance at the animal shelter. .his calm acceptance and complete devotion to my father. . and the proximity of their deaths. And suddenly I understood. I knew that God had answered my prayers after all. Life is too short for drama & petty things, so laugh hard, love truly and forgive quickly. Live While You Are Alive.Tell the people you love that you love them, at every opportunity. Forgive now those who made you cry. You might not get a second time. And if you don't send this to at least 4 people - who cares?But do share this with someone. Lost time can never be found.No virus found in this incoming message.Checked by AVG Free Edition. Version: 7.5.516 / Virus Database: 269.17.13/1211 - Release Date: 1/6/2008 11:57 AMNo virus found in this incoming message.Checked by AVG Free Edition. Version: 7.5.516 / Virus Database: 269.17.13/1213 - Release Date: 1/7/2008 9:14 AM----------------------------------------------------------Lengthy but worth the time...we can all relate.The Old Man and the Dog by Catherine Moore "Watch out! You nearly broad sided that car!" My father yelled at me. "Can't you do anything right?" Those words hurt worse than blows. I turned my head toward the elderly man in the seat beside me, daring me to challenge him. A lump rose in my throat as I averted my eyes. I wasn't prepared for another battle. "I saw the car, Dad. Please don't yell at me when I'm driving." My voice was measured and steady, sounding far calmer than I really felt.Dad glared at me, then turned away and settled back. At home I left Dad in front of the television and went outside to collect my though ts. Dark, heavy clouds hung in the air with a promise of rain. The rumble of distant thunder seemed to echo my inner turmoil. What could I do about him?Dad had been a lumberjack in Washington and Oregon . He had enjoyed being outdoors and had reveled in pitting his strength against the forces of nature. He had entered grueling lumberjack competitions, and had placed often. The shelves in his house were filled with trophies that attested to his prowess. The years marched on relentlessly. The first time he couldn't lift a heavy log, he joked about it; but later that same day I saw him outside alone, straining to lift it. He became irrit able whenever anyone teased him about his advancing age, or when he couldn't do something he had done as a younger man. Four days after his sixty-seventh birthday, he had a heart attack. An ambulance sped him to the hospital while a paramedic administered CPR to keep blood and oxygen flowing. At the hospital, Dad was rushed into an operating room. He was lucky; he survived. But something inside Dad died. His zest for life was gone. He obstinately refused to follow doctor's orders. Suggestions and offers of help were turned aside with sarcasm and insults. The number of visitors thinned, then finally stopped altogether. Dad was left alone. My husband, Dick, and I asked Dad to come live with us on our small farm. We hoped the fresh air and rustic atmosphere would help him adjust. Within a week after he moved in, I regretted the invitation. It seemed nothing was satisfactory. He criticized everything I did. I became frustrated and moody. Soon I was taking my pent-up anger out on Dick. We began to bicker and argue. Alarmed, Dick sought out our pastor and explained the situation. The clergyman set up weekly counseling appointments for us. At the close of each session he prayed, asking God to soothe Dad's troubled mind. But the months wore on and God was silent. Something had to be done and it was up to me to do it. The next day I sat down with the phone book and methodically called each of the mental health clinics listed in the Yellow Pages. I explained my problem to each of t he sympathetic voices that answ ered. In vain. Just when I was giving up hope, one of the voices suddenly exclaimed, "I just read something that might help you! Let me go get the article." I listened as she read. The article described a remarkable study done at a nursing home. All of the patients were under treatment for chronic depression. Yet their attitudes had improved dramatically when they were given responsibility for a dog. I drove to the animal shelter that afternoon. After I filled out a questionnaire, a uniformed officer led me to the kennels. The odor of disinfectant stung my nostrils as I moved down the row of pens. Each contained five to seven dogs. Long-haired dogs, curly-haired dogs, black dogs, spotted dogs all jumped up, trying to reach me. I studied each one but rejected one after the other for various reasons: too big, too small, too much hair. As I neared the last pen a dog in t he shadows of the far corner struggled to his feet, walked to the front of the run and sat down. It was a pointer, one of the dog world's aristocrats. But this was a caricature of the breed. Years had etched his face and muzzle with shades of gray. His hipbones jutted out in lopsided triangles. But it was his eyes that caught and held my attention. Calm and clear, they beheld me unwaveringly. I pointed to the dog. "Can you tell me about him?" The officer looked, then shook his head in puzzlement."He's a funny one. Appeared out of nowhere and sat in front of the gate. We brought him in, figuring someone would be right down to claim him. That was two weeks ago and we've heard nothing. His time is up tomorrow." He gestured helplessly. As the words sank in I turned to the man in horror. "You mean you're going to kill him?""Ma'am," he said gently, "that's our policy. We don't have room for every unclaimed dog." I looked at the pointer again The calm brown eyes awaited my decision. "I'll take him," I said.I drove home with the dog on the front seat beside me. When I reached the house I honked the horn twice. I was helping my prize out of the car when Dad shuffled onto the front porch. "Ta-da! Look what I got for you, Dad!" I said excitedly.Dad looked, then wrinkled his face in disgust. "If I had wanted a dog I would have gotten one. And I would have picked out a better specimen than that bag of bones. Keep it! I don't want it" Dad waved his arm scornfully and turned back toward the house. Anger rose inside me It squeezed together my throat muscles and pounded into my temples."You'd better get used to him, Dad. He's staying!" Dad ignored me. "Did you hear me, Dad?" I screamed. At those words Dad whirled angrily, his hands clenched at his sides, his eyes narrowed and blazing with hate. We stood glaring at each other like duelists, when suddenly the pointer pulled free from my grasp. He wobbled toward my dad and sat down in front of him. Then slowly, carefully, he raised his paw.Dad's lower jaw trembled as he stared at the uplifted paw. Confusion replaced the anger in his eyes. The pointer waited patiently. Then Dad was on his knees hugging the animal. It was the beginning of a warm and intimate friendship. Dad named the pointer Cheyenne . Together he and Cheyenne explored the community. They spent long hours walking down dusty lanes. They spent reflective moments on the banks of streams, angling for tasty trout. They even started to attend Sunday services together, Dad sitting in a pew and Cheyenne lying quietly at his feet. Dad and Cheyenne were inseparable throughout the next three years. Dad's bitterness faded, and he and Cheyenne made many friends. Then late one night I was startled to feel Cheyenne 's cold nose burrowing through our bed covers. He had never before come into our bedroom at night. I woke Dick, put on my robe and ran into my father's room. Dad lay in his bed, his face serene. But his spirit had left quietly sometime during the night. Two days later my shock and grief deepened when I discovered Cheyenne lying dead beside Dad's bed. I wrapped his still form in the rag rug he had slept on. As Dick and I buried him near a favorite fishing hole, I silently thanked the dog for the help he had given me in restoring Dad's peace of mind. The morning of Dad's funeral dawned overcast and dreary. This day looks like the way I feel, I thought, as I walked down the aisle to the pews reserved for family. I was surprised to see the many friends Dad and Cheyenne had made filling the church. The pastor began his eulogy. It was a tribute to both Dad and the dog who had changed his life And then the pastor turned to Hebrews 13:2. "Be not forgetful to entertain strangers." "I've often thanked God for sending that angel," he said. For me, the past dropped into place, completing a puzzle that I had not seen before: the sympathetic voice that had just read the right article... Cheyenne's unexpected appearance at the animal shelter. .his calm acceptance and complete devotion to my father. . and the proximity of their deaths. And suddenly I understood. I knew that God had answered my prayers after all. Life is too short for drama & petty things, so laugh hard, love truly and forgive quickly. Live While You Are Alive.Tell the people you love that you love them, at every opportunity. Forgive now those who made you cry. You might not get a second time. And if you don't send this to at least 4 people - who cares?But do share this with someone. Lost time can never be found.
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Monday, September 7, 2009
Sayer's Graduation - the rest of the story!
Sayer goes "upside down" when he hears the Johnpeer's voices at GDB!Happy Labor Day all you working dawgs!
Yes, it's Labor Day in Colorado and I'm so glad that I have a JOB! You know, I work hard for what I get paid in kibble and I believe that I don't need any of that stinking health care insurance, but Dad always wants the best for me. I'm working, though, and not "under-employed" like some dogs I know.
Zane, are you still laying around in California getting a sun tan? Yes, I heard that you have become a therapy dog, but what I want to know is, is the therapy for you or for the Johnpeers?!
Zane, are you still laying around in California getting a sun tan? Yes, I heard that you have become a therapy dog, but what I want to know is, is the therapy for you or for the Johnpeers?!
I know you have a good sense of humor because Dad said that you do, so I hope you are doing well and I look forward to meeting you someday SOON!
Thanks for sharing this story about your step brother and mine, Sayer. He really looks like a cool dude and I bet he really loves Kathy the way he did you and the Johnpeers.
Thanks for sharing this story from Sayer after his graduation as a "working dog." I can just hear Dolly singing "9 to 5" in the background. I know that Claudia & Richard will enjoy this story of success! Take is away Zane . . .
"Hey Mom and Dad, there's been lots of activity around here recently, mostly pertaining to Sayer and his graduation from Guide Dog School in San Rafael. Here's a brief summary of what I've overheard.
"A couple of weeks ago, Gary got a call that Sayer had been placed with person at the guide dog school and that the person was a retrain student, meaning Sayer would be their second dog.
"He wasn't told about any of the particulars, such as age, gender, residence, etc., just that he was "placed." The suspense, excitement, and anticipation about who it would be was killing everybody!
"About that time there was a "fun day" at the guide dog school in San Rafael and some of the people from Gary's puppy group went to join in with the festivities. It seems that Olga, that nice French lady you met once, was in the gift shop (perhaps it was a store; not sure) and somehow the name "Sayer" got mentioned.
"A bystander, who turned out to be the person who Sayer had been placed with, overheard Olga and they struck up a conversation. Olga was knowingly breaking the rules a bit because puppy raisers are not supposed to have any contact with the dogs once they are in training.
"But Olga's a bit like Gary and saw no problem bending the rules just a little bit. She called Gary upon her return to Orange County and "spilled the beans" about who Sayer was placed with.
"As you know by now, the person is a nice lady in her mid-50's who was a retrain student. Her name is Kathy Hazard and she lives right there in Novato. Olga got to see Sayer and she said he looked magnificent.
"A couple days later, Gary and Vicki got the official letter that Sayer was going to graduate and were asked if they were going to be able to go to the graduation. I got worried because I knew I couldn't go along. I've not been left alone overnight since I was retired.
"They let Jed, their new GDB pup, spend the night with Robert and Susan (Brando's owners) and I got to spend the night with my best friend across the street . . . you remember Logan, that Golden Retriever I play with all the time.
"They left for San Rafael last Friday evening for a very quick and tiring trip up to the school. They didn't get there till 2:00 AM Saturday morning and were up early to go see Sayer for the first time since he was recalled and to attend the Saturday graduation ceremony.
"They said Sayer went crazy when he first heard their voice. He was upside down and so excited that for a while he really didn't look like a dignified Guide Dog at all! But neither Kathy nor the Johnpeers were concerned as they figured Sayer would go berserk for a little while and he did!
"Gary said that Sayer's eager reaction to them was, in itself, justification for the tiring trip. Poor Kathy got left in the background during all the excitement of the re-union but she understood.
"Gary says that she is just as appreciative of getting Sayer as you were of getting me.
"Gary, Vicki, Kim, and Katie got to hand over the leash to Kathy and Gary got to say a few words at the ceremony....no he didn't cry or choke up this time!
"They all had to get back to Orange County by Sunday morning because Vicki started school on Monday and Kim and Brandon had Sunday School to teach. They visited for as long as they could and got to know Kathy a bit better. They got to meet her son and daughter-in-law who live close to Kathy. His name is Matt and her's is Heather.
"Perhaps best of all for Kathy, is that Matt and Heather adopted Dean, her 10-yr-old guide dog that had to be retired. It was hard for Kathy to officially retire Dean but she is so happy that he's close to home and she can see him often. Matt and Heather have a pretty neat dog now and everyone is happy.
"They are a good family and Gary says Sayer is in good hands, even though he would have been glad to have Sayer return to live with me . . . but then he always says that, doesn't he?
"Everybody is going through new adjustments now: Kathy with Sayer; Dean with Matt and Heather; Gary & Vickie without Sayer; ME without Sayer; me with Jed . . . goodness!
"Gotta go as this short note has again turned in to a small novel. Give Claudia and Grandma a big hug from me. Say hi to Cuzzie, too. I still miss you so much. I'm fine and I love it here as I get to sleep in Gary & Vickie's bed EVERY night!
Dear Sweet Lovable Zane"
Well, I guess that says it all . . . except, Happy Labor Day, everyone!
Love,
Miss Parka
"A couple of weeks ago, Gary got a call that Sayer had been placed with person at the guide dog school and that the person was a retrain student, meaning Sayer would be their second dog.
"He wasn't told about any of the particulars, such as age, gender, residence, etc., just that he was "placed." The suspense, excitement, and anticipation about who it would be was killing everybody!
"About that time there was a "fun day" at the guide dog school in San Rafael and some of the people from Gary's puppy group went to join in with the festivities. It seems that Olga, that nice French lady you met once, was in the gift shop (perhaps it was a store; not sure) and somehow the name "Sayer" got mentioned.
"A bystander, who turned out to be the person who Sayer had been placed with, overheard Olga and they struck up a conversation. Olga was knowingly breaking the rules a bit because puppy raisers are not supposed to have any contact with the dogs once they are in training.
"But Olga's a bit like Gary and saw no problem bending the rules just a little bit. She called Gary upon her return to Orange County and "spilled the beans" about who Sayer was placed with.
"As you know by now, the person is a nice lady in her mid-50's who was a retrain student. Her name is Kathy Hazard and she lives right there in Novato. Olga got to see Sayer and she said he looked magnificent.
"A couple days later, Gary and Vicki got the official letter that Sayer was going to graduate and were asked if they were going to be able to go to the graduation. I got worried because I knew I couldn't go along. I've not been left alone overnight since I was retired.
"They let Jed, their new GDB pup, spend the night with Robert and Susan (Brando's owners) and I got to spend the night with my best friend across the street . . . you remember Logan, that Golden Retriever I play with all the time.
"They left for San Rafael last Friday evening for a very quick and tiring trip up to the school. They didn't get there till 2:00 AM Saturday morning and were up early to go see Sayer for the first time since he was recalled and to attend the Saturday graduation ceremony.
"They said Sayer went crazy when he first heard their voice. He was upside down and so excited that for a while he really didn't look like a dignified Guide Dog at all! But neither Kathy nor the Johnpeers were concerned as they figured Sayer would go berserk for a little while and he did!
"Gary said that Sayer's eager reaction to them was, in itself, justification for the tiring trip. Poor Kathy got left in the background during all the excitement of the re-union but she understood.
"Gary says that she is just as appreciative of getting Sayer as you were of getting me.
"Gary, Vicki, Kim, and Katie got to hand over the leash to Kathy and Gary got to say a few words at the ceremony....no he didn't cry or choke up this time!
"They all had to get back to Orange County by Sunday morning because Vicki started school on Monday and Kim and Brandon had Sunday School to teach. They visited for as long as they could and got to know Kathy a bit better. They got to meet her son and daughter-in-law who live close to Kathy. His name is Matt and her's is Heather.
"Perhaps best of all for Kathy, is that Matt and Heather adopted Dean, her 10-yr-old guide dog that had to be retired. It was hard for Kathy to officially retire Dean but she is so happy that he's close to home and she can see him often. Matt and Heather have a pretty neat dog now and everyone is happy.
"They are a good family and Gary says Sayer is in good hands, even though he would have been glad to have Sayer return to live with me . . . but then he always says that, doesn't he?
"Everybody is going through new adjustments now: Kathy with Sayer; Dean with Matt and Heather; Gary & Vickie without Sayer; ME without Sayer; me with Jed . . . goodness!
"Gotta go as this short note has again turned in to a small novel. Give Claudia and Grandma a big hug from me. Say hi to Cuzzie, too. I still miss you so much. I'm fine and I love it here as I get to sleep in Gary & Vickie's bed EVERY night!
Dear Sweet Lovable Zane"
Well, I guess that says it all . . . except, Happy Labor Day, everyone!
Love,
Miss Parka
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Hey Bro! Sayer graduates!
Good morning dudes,
I am a proud sister-in-law! Dad's first guide's step-brother, Sayer, has graduated from GDB!
Zane and I know what it takes to do that and it is such a great accomplishment.
Congrats, Sayer and especially to Gary and the gang and all the love they shared to make him such a great guide dog!
Congrats to Kathy Wheeler for graduating as well. I know she must be a special lady!
Zane and I know what it takes to do that and it is such a great accomplishment.
Congrats, Sayer and especially to Gary and the gang and all the love they shared to make him such a great guide dog!
Congrats to Kathy Wheeler for graduating as well. I know she must be a special lady!
Gary, thanks for sharing so many pictures of your trip to San Rafael. I graduated in Spring, but I'm sure that San Rafael is a nice place. I know that Dad really liked his time there when he got Zane.
Here's what Gary shared about their whirlwind trip to San Rafael to see Sayer graduate from Guide Dog school and to meet Kathy Wheeler who got him.
"We met Kathy and her son and daughter-in-law and they were very gracious and so appreciative of getting Sayer. It's her second guide dog and you can tell she is a dog lover and that Sayer is in good hands. He sure looked handsome and we were so proud of him."
Well, it's nice to have some new members of the growing Zane Train family. Congrats Sayer!
Best wishes and thanks Gary and the Johnpeers,
Miss Parka
Miss Parka
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Pictures of "The Little Jedi"
Well, here he is! Everyone thinks he's so cute . . .
Gary put me in the front seat on the way home from picking up Jed . . . I wasn't too sure about what was happening.
He smells OK . . . we'll see . . .I think the rest of the family thinks we should keep him.
He can "Sit!" Oh, big deal!Let's hope he grows a little and I can play with him . . .
Zane
It's not Jeb - It's Jed!
Hey guys . . . here's a good one!
Katie was reading over some paperwork for that new guide dog puppy Gary and Vicki just got . . . you remember . . . the one they said was named "Jeb".
I always did think that "Jeb" was a strange name for a dog but I kept my mouth shut to be polite.
I always did think that "Jeb" was a strange name for a dog but I kept my mouth shut to be polite.
Katie asked Gary, "What's his name supposed to be?"
Gary said, "Jeb."
Katie looked closer at the paperwork and said, "Guess what? It's "Jed", not "Jeb".
Gary is embarrassed because he sent out emails to everybody telling them the name was Jeb. So now everybody here is trying to remember to call the little guy by his proper name. Gary now calls him "Jed, the Little Jedi."
Gary said, "Jeb."
Katie looked closer at the paperwork and said, "Guess what? It's "Jed", not "Jeb".
Gary is embarrassed because he sent out emails to everybody telling them the name was Jeb. So now everybody here is trying to remember to call the little guy by his proper name. Gary now calls him "Jed, the Little Jedi."
Gosh, you'd think that two grown people could get a dog's name straight. Now I'm worried that my name might be wrong, too! Guess I better go check my paperwork. I sure hope my name isn't "Shane" or something.
PS: I'm starting to like the little guy . . . he's kinda cute but pretty dumb right now. He only knows how to sit.
Love,
Zane
What I did on my summer Vacation by Zane Johnpeer
Hey Dad!
We just went on our annual trek to the High Sierra where we spent a week in an old cabin in a place called Mono Hot Springs. Here's a brief review of what we did.
But as long as I'm close to somebody, I'm happy. I was squeezed between Vicki's legs and the back of the front seat all the way. The nine hour ride was tiring because the last 20 miles were very bumpy due to a dirt road that is not well maintained. But I like the feel of the motion of the car and the vibration of the floorboards on my tender belly so I was OK with the whole ordeal.
At the cabin they rented (believe me, it was very "rustic" to say the least) their house rules were very relaxed and I got to lay around and rest a lot. I even got to lay on the picnic table to be petted and combed. In the evenings, when they were star-gazing I got to sit in
One day they took me to the river where I thought it was going to watch
Once we took a long hike to a remote glacial lake which was wonderful, but I had no intention of swimming there either and made that perfectly clear once I got there. Fortunately, it was a cool day for hiking and nobody got too overheated. Dad, you should have seen the beautiful flowers and big pine trees reflecting in the mirror-smooth lake water. It reminded me of the time we rode up to that lake in the mountains at the TNT Ranch when I was living with you.
Near the end of the vacation, we took a boat trip to
On the way, Vicki spotted a big bird that turned out to be a Bald Eagle. What an amazing and beautiful animal and it landed in a tree very close to the shore so we got some neat pictures.
Our trip home to
We're getting back into the daily routine (
They are all excited to see the new puppy called "Jeb", but to me it's just another black fur ball with five toes on each leg and each leg attached to a black chunk of meat. He's almost 10-weeks-old and has a skinny tail (no where near as handsome as mine) and he pees and poops a LOT!
Maybe they'll get fed up with his bad manners and get rid of him, but I kind of doubt that. So far, I'm just pretending they never brought him home, but in a way I'm glad they did because when he grows up a bit, well, he might be someone I can play with . . . not sure.
I'm here for the long haul and I'm still top dog . . .
Gotta go now and watch
I love you so much. Say Hi to Claudia and Grandma and give Parka a big hug for me.
Your Pal,
Zane
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