Drilling one instant, and surrendering the next
This underlying sound annoys the soul.
Attempting to interpret, we still lack in comprehension
Suffering silently with the denial of it’s toll.
For it hides it’s identity in our passion
And enlightens our path like a candle’s wick
We plug through with drive and determination
Fueled by whatever makes us “tick”.
Listen.....
Can you hear it?
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Infallibly Perfect
Perfect. She was a perfect, sweet, little dog that managed to squeeze into my heart of denial.
Her story was undeniably heart breaking. She was a drop off. Her puppy was hit by a car. She had drug her poor, dead puppy off the road to safety. She guarded it pathetically until I buried the lifeless body that had cemented her to one spot for two days.
She was just an other stray passing through. At least that's what I told myself, hoping all the while that she really did belong to somebody. But when I discovered her pup, I put all the pieces together. It was when I cried in that very spot of discovery that I admitted to myself she was going to need my help.
She became my "project". I had her spayed, I printed fliers, I placed an ad. I sent emails; anything to get the word out. I tried to keep my distance. During this duration, she followed me, she "talked" to me (hence her name, Whinney), and promised me with her eyes, she'd do anything if I asked her. At first she was reluctant to trust me, she had gone through a lot. But, her confidance grew. Over time she grew content and then happy; her true personality began to shine. She always came when I called even when in the middle of a rabbit hunt. And if I was outside, she was always three bounds away.
I gave up after the third attempt of trying to keep her contained. After the dog run and the chicken wire, I realized she wasn't going anywhere and her preferred spot was the welcome door mat. Her eye would always be on the window, or her ear on the sound of the front screen door. Waiting for me.
Torn between claiming her as mine and wanting someone to claim her, I felt she was mine, I relished her devotion. For over a month it went on like this. I got a couple of interested callers but they never followed through. This only made it easier to tease myself into thinking that maybe she would be here all summer. Maybe she could end up being our "front yard dog". But, I had three dogs. She couldn't stay. Yet, her imprint grew deeper.
She developed a "skip" when she was excited, always pleased when we were outdoors. Twice daily I'd round the corner to feed the sheep and I'd hear her bounding just behind me or jumping up to wet my hand with her nose - just to let me know she was there.
And then I received a phone call. Someone sincerely was interested in her. Someone who was looking for a dog, a friend for an older, lonely gentleman. I got off the phone ashamed I wasn't more happy.
Before meeting them, I was skeptical and critical. In fact, I told the lady on the phone that; "it would have to be a perfect fit". What was I doing?! Here I had been working over a month to find this dog a home and I was jeopardizing her chance. Yet, somehow I let my guard down and my heart was doing the thinking.
I brought her to her new home on a Friday morning. The man was genuinely hooked on her. He had the fenced yard, the dog bed, the dog kennel...the works. I couldn't argue the situation. It was perfect.
I cried the whole way home. I told my husband; "I feel like I just gave my dog away." It took me two days to let go of the heaviness I carried inside. What dawned on me was that she wasn't my dog to begin with. I served as her stepping stone to her real home, her new chance. My role wasn't insignificant nor irreplaceable. This all helps with the ache that still lingers.
I still hear her bounding up behind me. It took me a week just to not turn and look for her. She was just a mutt, passing through but I'm glad she passed through. I got to be her "friend" from May 2nd until June 10th. I helped her heal and got her ready for what was to come. Her purpose now is to be a devoted friend to someone who needs her. I believe she will serve that purpose wholeheartedly
I've learned that my heart directs well...most of the time. And even though it may not think entirely with clarity, I'm glad that it has felt what it has felt. I'd do it all again.
Her story was undeniably heart breaking. She was a drop off. Her puppy was hit by a car. She had drug her poor, dead puppy off the road to safety. She guarded it pathetically until I buried the lifeless body that had cemented her to one spot for two days.
She was just an other stray passing through. At least that's what I told myself, hoping all the while that she really did belong to somebody. But when I discovered her pup, I put all the pieces together. It was when I cried in that very spot of discovery that I admitted to myself she was going to need my help.
She became my "project". I had her spayed, I printed fliers, I placed an ad. I sent emails; anything to get the word out. I tried to keep my distance. During this duration, she followed me, she "talked" to me (hence her name, Whinney), and promised me with her eyes, she'd do anything if I asked her. At first she was reluctant to trust me, she had gone through a lot. But, her confidance grew. Over time she grew content and then happy; her true personality began to shine. She always came when I called even when in the middle of a rabbit hunt. And if I was outside, she was always three bounds away.
I gave up after the third attempt of trying to keep her contained. After the dog run and the chicken wire, I realized she wasn't going anywhere and her preferred spot was the welcome door mat. Her eye would always be on the window, or her ear on the sound of the front screen door. Waiting for me.
Torn between claiming her as mine and wanting someone to claim her, I felt she was mine, I relished her devotion. For over a month it went on like this. I got a couple of interested callers but they never followed through. This only made it easier to tease myself into thinking that maybe she would be here all summer. Maybe she could end up being our "front yard dog". But, I had three dogs. She couldn't stay. Yet, her imprint grew deeper.
She developed a "skip" when she was excited, always pleased when we were outdoors. Twice daily I'd round the corner to feed the sheep and I'd hear her bounding just behind me or jumping up to wet my hand with her nose - just to let me know she was there.
And then I received a phone call. Someone sincerely was interested in her. Someone who was looking for a dog, a friend for an older, lonely gentleman. I got off the phone ashamed I wasn't more happy.
Before meeting them, I was skeptical and critical. In fact, I told the lady on the phone that; "it would have to be a perfect fit". What was I doing?! Here I had been working over a month to find this dog a home and I was jeopardizing her chance. Yet, somehow I let my guard down and my heart was doing the thinking.
I brought her to her new home on a Friday morning. The man was genuinely hooked on her. He had the fenced yard, the dog bed, the dog kennel...the works. I couldn't argue the situation. It was perfect.
I cried the whole way home. I told my husband; "I feel like I just gave my dog away." It took me two days to let go of the heaviness I carried inside. What dawned on me was that she wasn't my dog to begin with. I served as her stepping stone to her real home, her new chance. My role wasn't insignificant nor irreplaceable. This all helps with the ache that still lingers.
I still hear her bounding up behind me. It took me a week just to not turn and look for her. She was just a mutt, passing through but I'm glad she passed through. I got to be her "friend" from May 2nd until June 10th. I helped her heal and got her ready for what was to come. Her purpose now is to be a devoted friend to someone who needs her. I believe she will serve that purpose wholeheartedly
I've learned that my heart directs well...most of the time. And even though it may not think entirely with clarity, I'm glad that it has felt what it has felt. I'd do it all again.
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