I thought I'd better get on here and give everyone a little update. I did not hunt this last weekend we were expecting snow and frigid temps. And we got both we received about 2 inches of snow and when I got up to go to work this morning my truck thermometer said 0. Since the forecast was bad I stayed home and did a few chores that needed done. When I got up Saturday morning it was still 40 degrees and I empty all the ice out of the dog buckets and gave the kennels a good cleaning. I stopped at Burch's and bought straw on my way home from work. So all the dogs got fresh straw snf the dogs are happy. When you give them fresh bedding they are like kids in candy store they scratch and dig and get their little nests made it always makes me smile. No dog I have ever owned like fresh straw like old Rock did he would work for hours to get his straw just the way he wanted it. Boy I miss that dog but I miss all my dogs that have gone on the the big bird hunt in the sky.
Heading North again this coming weekend for the last pheasant hunt for wild birds this season. Wish me luck and I hope to have some good stuff to put in my blog and of course a few pictures.
I wanted to post this story it is a good one in my opinion and they sure pick the right breed of dog for this story read and enjoy.
"Watch out! You nearly broad sided that car!" My father yelled at me.
"Can't you do anything right?" 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 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 lift 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
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 the sympathetic voices that answered 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
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 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 dog world's aristocrats. But this was a
caricature of the breed.
Years had etched his face and muzzle with shades of gray. His hip bones
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
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
streams, angling for tasty trout. They even started to attend Sunday
services together, Dad sitting in a pew and Cheyenne lying quietly at is 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
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. "Do not neglect to show
hospitality to strangers, for by this some have entertained angels without
"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
Life is too short for drama or petty things, so laugh hard, love truly and
forgive quickly. Live While You Are Alive. 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 ---nobody cares? But do
share this with someone. Lost time can never be found.
God answers our prayers in His time........God answers