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My New Friends

I got home from the grocery store the other day only to realize I had forgotten something and had to go back. On the way, I passed this pasture, which I've passed dozens of times, but never stopped. This time there were some marsh birds in there with the cows, and I thought it would make a picture that Rhonda would like, and I had my
camera, so I got out of the car. As soon as I got out, the marsh birds left, but to my surprise, all the cows walked over to me. They seemed tame, especially this one who leaned over and wanted to smell my face and let me pet him/her (?) Look at those big eyes and long eyelashes, and that big crusty mouth :-)

Karen S 5/12/07

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- Rachel Naomi Remen, MD

NAIROBI (AFP) - A baby hippopotamus that survived the tsunami waves on the Kenyan coast has formed a strong bond with a giant male century-old tortoise in an animal facility in the port city of Mom bassa , officials said.  The hippopotamus, nicknamed Owen and weighing about 300 kilograms (650 pounds), was swept down Sabaki River into the Ind ian Ocean , then forced back to shore when tsunami waves struck the Kenyan coast on December 26, before wildlife rangers rescued him.

"It is incredible. A-less-than-a-year-old hippo has adopted a male tortoise, about a century old, and the tortoise seems to be very happy with being a 'mother'," ecologist Paula Kahumbu, who is in charge of Lafarge Park , told AFP.

"After it was swept away and lost its mother, the hippo was traumatized.  It had to look for something to be a surrogate mother.

Fortunately, it landed on the tortoise and established a strong bond.  They swim, eat and sleep together," the ecologist added.

"The hippo follows the tortoise exactly the way it followed its mother. If somebody approaches the tortoise, the hippo becomes aggressive, as if protecting its biological mother," Kahumbu added.

"The hippo is a young baby, he was left at a very tender age and by nature, hippos are social animals that like to stay with their mothers for four years," he explained.

"Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away."
 

This is a real story that shows that our differences don't matter much when we need the comfort of another.

We could all learn a lesson from these two creatures of God, "Look beyond the differences and find a way to walk the path together."

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A Dog's Purpose

Author Unknown

Being a veterinarian, I had been called to examine a ten-year-old Irish Wolfhound named Belker.  The dog's owners, Ron, his wife, Lisa and their little boy, Shane, were all very attached to Belker, and they were hoping for a miracle.  I examined Belker and found he was dying of cancer.  I told the family we couldn't do anything for Belker, and offered to perform the euthanasia procedure for the old dog in their home.

As we made arrangements, Ron and Lisa told me they thought it would be good for six-year-old Shane to observe the procedure.  They felt Shane might learn something from the experience.

The next day, I felt the familiar catch in my throat as Belker's family surrounded him.  Shane seemed so calm, petting the old dog for the last time, that I wondered if he understood what was going on.  Within a few minutes Belker slipped peacefully away.

The little boy seemed to accept Belker's transition without any difficulty or confusion.  We Sat together for a while after Belker's death, wondering aloud about the sad fact that animal lives are shorter than human lives.

Shane, who had been listening quietly, piped up, "I know why."

Startled, we all turned to him.  What came out of his mouth next stunned me.  I'd never heard a more comforting explanation.

He said, "People are born so that they can learn how to live a good life -- like loving everybody all the time and being nice, right?"

The six-year-old continued, "Well, dogs already know how to do that, so they don't have to stay s long."

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Author Unknown

"Watch out! You nearly board-sided that car!" My father yelled at me.  "Can't you do anything right?"

Those words hurt worse than the blows.  I turned my heard 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 thoughts.  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 life a heavy log, he joked about it; but later that same day I saw him outside alone, straining to lift it.  He became irritable 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 doctors 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, Rick, 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 moddy.  Soon I was taking my pent-up anger out on Rick.  We began to bicker and argue.

Alarmed, Rick sought out our pastor and sxplained the situation.  The clergyman set up weekly counseling appointment 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.

A raindrop struck my cheek.  I looked up into the gray sky.  Somewhere up there was "God."  Although I believe a Supreme Being had created the universe, I had difficulty believing that God cared about the tiny human beings on this earth.  I was tired of waiting for a God who did not answer.

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 in vain to each of the sympathetic voices that answered.

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 oder 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 passed up one after the other for various reasons, too big, too small, too much hair.

As I neared the last pen a dog in the 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 dogs 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 that 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's better get used to him, Dad.  He's staying!"

"Did you hear me, Dad?" I screamed.

At those words Dad whirled angrily, his hands clenched at his sides, his eyes narrowed and blaxing 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 dust 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 started to feel Cheyenne's cold nose burrowing through our bed covers.  He had never before come into our bedroom at night.  I woke Rick, put on my robe and rand 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 Rick 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.  The day looks like the way I fee, 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 for 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 and petty things, so kiss slowly, laugh insanely, love truly and forgive quickly.

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