Old Dogs
September 25, 2008
I miss Java. My old dog. Mostly, I'm a cat woman, but Java taught me the biggest lessons. OLD DOGS ARE THE BEST DOGS features photos and stories of other peoples' old dogs. Don't read it unless you don't mind crying.
One old dog, found chained to a doghouse, had very bumpy skin. The new owner took 11-year old Hank to the vet. The doctor pried out tiny, hard lumps with a scalpel one by one. They were pellets. Hank had been used for target practice. There's 15-year old Honey Pie who was adopted from a rescue group that called her a mean dog. One night, the family cat, who was ill, crawled into Honey Pie's bed, and contrary to his known character, he let her sleep there. Even stood guard protectively. The cat died the next day. And, there's the 16-year old Jack Russell terrier, Stanly, who was sent home from the vet's office after he lost his virginity there...only to escape the next morning and show up at the vet's office again, looking for more loving. Now he is known as Manly Stanly.
My Java was a full-blood Labrador...who was scared of the water. Actually, she was scared of a lot of things. But she was so sweet. We chose her from a half-dozen puppies, because when we walked in for the first time, she and several other pups ran over to us. Java had a piece of red yarn tied around her neck, and as she raced her siblings, she stumbled over the ribbon, rolled over, and popped up smiling at us. She chose us. We called her Java because of her high energy. Her middle name was Mojo, because she seemed magical to us.
There were four of us humans who lived in our home, and one by one, the other three left. Within four months, it was just Java and Jasmine -- my black cat rescued from the animal shelter -- and me.
I would stand up from my desk, and Java would be laying right under my feet. I would be in my bedroom, and turn around, and she would be right under my feet. I would be cooking, and turn to open the frig, and nearly stumble over Java. She was always under foot. And never minded when I almost fell on her.
Walking Java fell to me. I was the only one left. I wasn't used to dogs, really, but I took her on a daily walk around the block. As the last two years went by, I sometimes walked backwards, because she was so slow it wasn't a workout by any stretch of the imagination. At some point, Jasmine began joining us on walks, so it was me and then Java and then Jasmine. Neighbors would pull over in their cars and point and laugh at the cat that was going for a walk.
One of the last walks we took, before Java's body gave out forever, came as I was struggling with a career issue. The CBS station where I had worked for four years flipped format, and laid everyone off. I was parting out my other skills to make ends meet -- podcasting, voiceovers, media training, writing, anything I could think of. I had applied for a communications director job at a worldwide athletic company based in my town. As Java and Jasmine and I walked, I heard in my right ear (yes, at times I'm clairvoyant) that even though my credentials were good, the company would hire someone else in two weeks. And that's what happened. As Java and Jasmine and I walked, I answered, saying "I want security!" and suddenly, dripping into my mind came pictures of the small jobs that had fallen into my lap lately, and as this dawned on me, I heard, "What do you think Faith is?"
Just as the message bloomed, the miracle happened. Java paused, and I stopped, and looked down. And, there on the sidewalk was a shiny penny, heads up. Penny from heaven. I plucked it up, and it sits with a stone painted Faith in a see-through bag made of a ribbon on my desk.
I wish I could stumble over Java one more time.
I miss Java. My old dog. Mostly, I'm a cat woman, but Java taught me the biggest lessons. OLD DOGS ARE THE BEST DOGS features photos and stories of other peoples' old dogs. Don't read it unless you don't mind crying.
One old dog, found chained to a doghouse, had very bumpy skin. The new owner took 11-year old Hank to the vet. The doctor pried out tiny, hard lumps with a scalpel one by one. They were pellets. Hank had been used for target practice. There's 15-year old Honey Pie who was adopted from a rescue group that called her a mean dog. One night, the family cat, who was ill, crawled into Honey Pie's bed, and contrary to his known character, he let her sleep there. Even stood guard protectively. The cat died the next day. And, there's the 16-year old Jack Russell terrier, Stanly, who was sent home from the vet's office after he lost his virginity there...only to escape the next morning and show up at the vet's office again, looking for more loving. Now he is known as Manly Stanly.
My Java was a full-blood Labrador...who was scared of the water. Actually, she was scared of a lot of things. But she was so sweet. We chose her from a half-dozen puppies, because when we walked in for the first time, she and several other pups ran over to us. Java had a piece of red yarn tied around her neck, and as she raced her siblings, she stumbled over the ribbon, rolled over, and popped up smiling at us. She chose us. We called her Java because of her high energy. Her middle name was Mojo, because she seemed magical to us.
There were four of us humans who lived in our home, and one by one, the other three left. Within four months, it was just Java and Jasmine -- my black cat rescued from the animal shelter -- and me.
I would stand up from my desk, and Java would be laying right under my feet. I would be in my bedroom, and turn around, and she would be right under my feet. I would be cooking, and turn to open the frig, and nearly stumble over Java. She was always under foot. And never minded when I almost fell on her.
Walking Java fell to me. I was the only one left. I wasn't used to dogs, really, but I took her on a daily walk around the block. As the last two years went by, I sometimes walked backwards, because she was so slow it wasn't a workout by any stretch of the imagination. At some point, Jasmine began joining us on walks, so it was me and then Java and then Jasmine. Neighbors would pull over in their cars and point and laugh at the cat that was going for a walk.
One of the last walks we took, before Java's body gave out forever, came as I was struggling with a career issue. The CBS station where I had worked for four years flipped format, and laid everyone off. I was parting out my other skills to make ends meet -- podcasting, voiceovers, media training, writing, anything I could think of. I had applied for a communications director job at a worldwide athletic company based in my town. As Java and Jasmine and I walked, I heard in my right ear (yes, at times I'm clairvoyant) that even though my credentials were good, the company would hire someone else in two weeks. And that's what happened. As Java and Jasmine and I walked, I answered, saying "I want security!" and suddenly, dripping into my mind came pictures of the small jobs that had fallen into my lap lately, and as this dawned on me, I heard, "What do you think Faith is?"
Just as the message bloomed, the miracle happened. Java paused, and I stopped, and looked down. And, there on the sidewalk was a shiny penny, heads up. Penny from heaven. I plucked it up, and it sits with a stone painted Faith in a see-through bag made of a ribbon on my desk.
I wish I could stumble over Java one more time.
Labels: book review, Gene Weinbarten, life lessons, Michael S. Williamson, OLD DOGS ARE THE BEST DOGS
posted by Diana Page Jordan @ 10:49 PM
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