Don't read this one... it's not very "clement". The purpose is to express feelings, but it's not very entertaining. It's one of those that has a dog in it. And the dog dies. Actually I hate those...
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Today I was assigned to work with a brother named Terry. With the special talk the following day, we decided to concentrate on making return visits and handing out more of the Memorial/Special Talk invitations.
One of my return visits is Marty, a fascinating guy with a couple of big dogs and a backyard coop full of racing pigeons.
Something I might mention about Marty, who I've been calling on for years, is that he used to have two German Shepherd's Dogs, Luther and Duchess. Luther later died from Lyme's disease, which was strange since he never went anywhere except his back yard which actually is quite extensive. The dog doctor thought perhaps Coyotes had tracked in the ticks during their nighttime visits.
With Duchess now alone, she became quite friendly when I would stop by. Even when Marty's blue truck was gone, I'd still go up and leave a note for him with some literature, and Duchess would quietly greet me through the chain-link fence, rolling on her back in submission, and letting me scratch her through the fence.
A few years ago, Marty told me about a matter of great concern to him. His grown son who lived in Chula Vista and who had lost his license to drive because of his epilepsy, was travelling to Los Angeles for consultations on some brain surgery that was hoped would cure his epilepsy.
Now Marty is one of my favorite return visits. Although he's "forever an RV" and really just won't accept our invitations to come to a meeting, or to knuckle down and study in the Bible Teach book, he just seems so humble, and he'll converse about things he's read in the magazines I leave him. He's just a nice guy!
So I see him every few weeks or less, and was happy to learn that his son's operation had been a success and that he was driving again!
Just a few months after that, however, Marty had some sad news to share. His son had been found dead in his crashed car. Investigators concluded that he'd had a sudden epileptic seizure again while driving.
Marty inherited his son's big yellow lab, a female named Sandy.
Life in the backyard was now of great interest to both Sandy the newcomer, and Duchess the incumbent canine queen. Both laid claim to the title of Alpha [female] and there was snapping and arguing and barking and an uneasy tolerance of each other.
Then one night it the issue was decided. Marty discovered blood "all over" the inside of the garage, where it was evident that a decisive battle had been fought by the two big dogs.
Sandy was now the undisputed champion. Queen Alpha Canine!
When I would come by to see Marty, and he wouldn't answer or else his truck wasn't home, I was greeted by two very LOUD barking dogs, always with yellow lab Sandy in the lead.
Shepherd Duchess would be right behind her offering her full support.
A year or so passed by, and I guess I let some months slip by between visits. Suddenly I noticed that Sandy was looking older and slower. And it was Duchess that was first at the fence with the ear-shattering barking.
Marty explained there'd been another struggle, and the leadership had changed. Duchess was now First Lady of the Yard.
Sandy was getting older and frailer and her coat was getting a bit worn-looking. This had been the case for many weeks now that we returned today, Saturday April 7, 2012.
Terry and I had a very nice visit with Marty, sharing some scriptures about how close the end was, and Jah's command that we "gather together", and earnestly inviting him to tomorrow's Special Talk, "Is It Later Than You Think?" Marty reacted well, and we had a nice discussion.
Then Marty changed the subject:
"You probably didn't notice... Sandy isn't here".
Only then did I fully realize when we'd first walked up, only Duchess had greeted us, with her typical noisy barking, which had been quickly hushed by Marty, who had been right behind her in the yard.
"Remember that storm we had last weekend?" he explained. "Sandy always preferred to sleep outside, rather than in the garage. And you see these pieces of plywood right here?"
He pointed to some some thick press-board plywood sheets leaning up against the inside of the chain link fence. There were about 4 or 5 sheets.
"Well it was windy. And for some reason she chose to lay down right here that night," he said, pointing to the area on the concrete which would naturally be sheltered from the wind by the loose sheets of plywood.
"The plywood blew over and she got crushed. When I came out in the morning, I just saw her head sticking out at the end."
As I listened and offered sounds of condolence, I found my eyes getting wet and watery. Especially when Marty said, motioning to quiet Duchess who lay on the ground at his feet,
"So we've both been missing her."
We talked about the beauty of Jehovah's idea of making dogs, and that Sandy had been 15 years old, and after wiping my eyes a few times with a finger I finally admitted that it had made me cry, and that I was really sorry to hear that this had happened.
One of the reasons Wendy and I don't have pets is that we don't have the courage, the where-with-all, or whatever you want to say, to say "goodbye" to beloved animals when the time inevitably comes.
This sucks but it's been good to type it all out and now I feel better.
ps. I told Marty that I wondered if now Duchess might be more friendly to me, instead of the insane barking she-demon she'd become after she'd taken on the role of Alpha Bitch for the pair of dogs when Marty was not around. (My word choice was slightly different from how I termed it just now. Milder.)
