The Old Man And His Angel - A Most Touching Story
Wednesday, October 28, 2009 Posted by revalbertkang
It was such a good story that we both cried big doggy tears.
It's a bit long but we know that you will enjoy this lovely story.
It's a bit long but we know that you will enjoy this lovely story.
Prepare tissue papers for your tears.
Woof and triple woofs.
Your best friend.
Mercy
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Your best friend.
Mercy
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The Old Man and His Angel
by Catherine Moore
“Watch out! You nearly broad sided that car!” My father yelled at me.
“Can’t you do anything right?”
Those 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 mind.
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. “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 & petty things, so laugh hard, love truly and forgive quickly.
Live While You Are Alive.
Tell the people you love that you love them, at every opportunity.
Forgive now those who made you cry. You might not get a second time.
Time To Eat The Dog?
Tuesday, October 27, 2009 Posted by revalbertkang
Written by my own paws - Mercy
Recently, Daddy was fuming. He learned from Mommy that someone had written a book about eating all the pets because it is not ecologically viable to keep them. Mommy had heard this bit of information over the car radio while on the way back from work.
Through the internet, Daddy found the offending book. It was written by Robert and Brenda Vale. The title of the book caused Daddy to roll his eyes a few times. Guess what the title is? Woof and triple woofs. It is 'Time to Eat the Dog: The Real Guide to Sustainable Living'.
The title is offensive to Goodness and me too. Why didn't they entitle the book, 'Time to Eat the Cat' or 'Time to Eat Your Children'? Woof and triple woofs!
Anyway, the book is about sustainable living. The whole idea the authors are trying to advocate is for all human beings to cut down on our carbon footprints. They frighten everybody with their 'in-depth' calculations of various natural resources and how these will become totally depleted in the future.
From one book review, a reader is unhappy with what the authors have suggested about keeping pets. They have written that the cheapest or best way to own a dog is to cook one. This is atrocious! How can a cooked dog guard the house and frighten robbers? Can a cooked dog kill rodents and roaches? Can a cooked dog frighten wild feline monsters?
Now basing on their own arguments, you should not buy their book. Let me tell you why! It is not ecologically friendly. Buying their controversial book will create a lot of carbon footprints. Imagine how many trees got to be destroyed in order to make papers for their books. How about all the carbon dioxide produced by the printing press and the manufacturing of printing ink? The trucks, vans and other vehicles used to deliver their books to the stores, etc.
One reader says that he will donate his copy to his local library - "and thus reduce the ecological impact of it having been hypocritically printed on nice glossy paper with in colour with big margins and a shiny laminated cover".
As for Goodness and me, we will just swallow the book and make it a part of our poo poo.
Woof and triple woofs!
The CAT Arrived!
Thursday, October 22, 2009 Posted by revalbertkang
Written by my own paws - Mercy.
The CAT arrived at our home. One dark and dreary night, Dr. Pam and Uncle Vincent brought the ugly feline monster. Goodness and I were shocked. Goodness went frantic and barked like as though her tail was on fire. I barked with firm authority! I asked this creature why did he even come back.
The commotion at the gates was atrocious. Daddy, with his loud voice, was commanding us to calm down while Mommy, with her sweet voice, repeated his commands. Then Dr. Pam and Uncle Vincent were struggling with the cat carrier, trying to squeeze pass the narrow gap through the gates. Daddy was afraid that we would run out on the street and get killed by passing vehicles and so he always opened the gates slightly.
Goodness finally calmed down while I watched the next horrifying scene. The adults had put the CAT into our 'house'. You will remember that the 'house' on the porch was our cage. We lost our 'house' that night. Until this post, we do not have a 'house' on the porch any more. Dr. Pam said that this monster would occupy our house until he has fully recovered from his surgery.
Today, Jellicle the Cat lives inside our 'house' which is placed in the living room of our real house. We have strict instructions not to harass our 'brother'. However, once a while, I just bark at this monster to let him know who is boss in this house. Goodness is very helpful too. She occasionally helps me bark at this ignorant creature. A few times, this stupid feline monster wants to scratch our eyes out but he is no match for our Dog Fu. We always jump clear before her claws can touch us.
Poor Goodness and I will have to figure how we can pass our days with this monster living next to us. We have to tolerate the intolerable. Woof and triple woofs.
A Dog's Purpose (By a 6-year-old).
Tuesday, October 20, 2009 Posted by revalbertkang
For all you Dog lovers:
Daddy Albert receives an email with this story. Very touching. It proves that we dogs are closer to the heart of God. Woof and triple woof - Mercy
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 as though 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 as long.'
Live simply.
Love generously.
Care deeply.
Speak kindly.
Remember, if a dog was the teacher you would learn things like:
When loved ones come home, always run to greet them.
Allow the experience of fresh air and the wind in your face to be pure Ecstasy.
Take naps.
Stretch before rising.
Run, romp, and play daily.
Thrive on attention and let people touch you.
Avoid biting when a simple growl will do.
On warm days, stop to lie on your back on the grass.
On hot days, drink lots of water and lie under a shady tree.
When you're happy, dance around and wag your entire body.
Delight in the simple joy of a long walk.
Be loyal.
Never pretend to be something you're not.
If what you want lies buried, dig until you find it.
When someone is having a bad day, be silent, sit close by, and nuzzle them gently.
ENJOY EVERY MOMENT OF EVERY DAY!
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 as though 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 as long.'
Live simply.
Love generously.
Care deeply.
Speak kindly.
Remember, if a dog was the teacher you would learn things like:
When loved ones come home, always run to greet them.
Allow the experience of fresh air and the wind in your face to be pure Ecstasy.
Take naps.
Stretch before rising.
Run, romp, and play daily.
Thrive on attention and let people touch you.
Avoid biting when a simple growl will do.
On warm days, stop to lie on your back on the grass.
On hot days, drink lots of water and lie under a shady tree.
When you're happy, dance around and wag your entire body.
Delight in the simple joy of a long walk.
Be loyal.
Never pretend to be something you're not.
If what you want lies buried, dig until you find it.
When someone is having a bad day, be silent, sit close by, and nuzzle them gently.
ENJOY EVERY MOMENT OF EVERY DAY!
Our New Brother, THE CAT
Friday, October 16, 2009 Posted by revalbertkang
Written by my own paws - Mercy
I think we are going to have a brother and he is a CAT! Woof, woof and triple woofs! A CAT!
How can Daddy and Mommy even consider having a CAT?
Well, it is not Daddy's fault because he was in Singapore visiting Grandma. Our aunt, Dr. Pam visited us and stayed with Mommy for a day. Then this CAT that lived in the back alley became very sick. So, like all good veterinarians, Dr. Pam decided to help the CAT.
The good doctor fed the CAT with our DOG FOOD! Woof, woof and triple woofs!
How could she do that? Took our food to feed the CAT!
Dr. Pam managed to get the sick (yuck) CAT into our kitchen. She then placed it in a DOG carrier. This was really getting strange. We never travel in dog carriers and where on earth did she find a dog carrier?
Apparently, Dr. Pam always carries a DOG carrier in her car so that if she sees an animal in need, she will bring it back. She is famous for rescuing many dogs and cats.
The well-fed CAT slept comfortably in the DOG carrier for a night. The next day, our kind aunt brought the CAT to her clinic and made him a eunuch.
Well, it sounds very cruel but really, there are too many stray dogs and cats on our streets. I have met some of them when they came to our gates. They look so pitiful. Some of our fellow canines were suffering badly. Their bodies were full of ticks, fleas and other parasites. Some of them were undernourished and look very sickly.
Dr. Pam told Mommy and Daddy that untold number of street animals died miserably. Therefore spaying or neutering is the responsible way to go.
When our parents adopted us, the first thing they did was to have us spayed. As female dogs, when we come of age, we may have unwanted pregnancies and so being spayed is the best way to go.
Guess when our BROTHER comes back, he will be a happier and more responsible cat. At least, he does not have the ability to sow wild oats and produce lots of owner-less and homeless kittens.
By the way, my Mommy named this tom CAT, 'Jellicle'. She said that the name came from the musical, 'Cat'! Woof, woof and triple woofs!
How come the cats have their very own musical? Is there a musical named "Dog"?
Reference sites:
- http://4allpetlovers.com
- http://pam-pam.blogspot.com
- http://dogs.suite101.com/article.cfm/the_responsibility_of_dog_ownershi
- http://vetmedicine.about.com/cs/diseasesall/a/neutering.htm
My New Hiding Place
Thursday, October 08, 2009 Posted by revalbertkang
Written with my own paws - Mercy
My Daddy was very upset on Sunday. He had come home from church. From what Goodness and I had heard, he and Mommy had a good time in church. Mommy had gone shopping with Grandma. And so Daddy came back with Uncle Aaron. They had a long meeting in the study, working on their laptops. We were locked out of the study because these men did not want to be disturbed.
Goodness was busy chewing her cowhide 'bone' while I was just lying around... really bored. My sister has the most amazing jaws. She can chew a bone for hours without feeling tired. So, there I was staring at her auto-jaws moving and moving. Daddy has spoiled her rotten because now Goodness had four half chewed bones.
For your information, those half-chewed bones were not anywhere in sight because yours truly had buried them somewhere. The urge to hide bones is inside me. I don't really know why. It must be a type of God-given instinct that is built into my system. When I see a bone, I must bury it.
Please note that our house has no garden or any open-earth area. So, I have to be very creative. There are places that I can hide half-eaten bones. One of my favorite places is the last shelf of the bookshelves. Since Mommy has many bags stacked there, a bone would easily disappear into this pile . Other places that are less successful are those found under rugs and doormats. Goodness finds those hiding places easily.
So, on that day, while Goodness was chewing, I did a sudden snatch-and-run move and the bone was firmly in my mouth. Ah, the power of Dog-Fu. Goodness was still in a shock with her mouth open. When she recovered from the sudden disappearance of her bone, she sprung up with great agility. I must say that she is a little slimmer than I am and she is great on speed. I, on the other hand, am great on weight.
Like a missile, she threw her slim body at me. Woof, woof! Big mistake. Just as her hurling body was about to hit me, I turned! Boom! Oh my goodness! She crashed onto the back of the sofa! The woman had no sense of stopping. She picked herself up and did another charge. My movement was hindered by the bone in my mouth, and so this time I was not able to escape. She got me squarely and so both of us rolled and tumbled like out-of-control typhoon. Daddy must have heard the commotion because he opened his door and called out.
"Mercy! Goodness! Enough!"
With the bone in my mouth, I rushed up the stairs but Daddy had closed the door. He and Uncle Aaron had so much to talk. Goodness was right behind me and nipping at my hind legs. I had to make a quick get-a-way. I leaped over her and ran to the kitchen. In hot pursuit, she stayed close to my legs. Then, suddenly she stopped.
I stopped too and turned to find out why. There was Goodness jumping and chasing after a stray fly that had flown into the kitchen. Insects are always more important than her bone. She must have killed hundreds of them. Grasshoppers, beetles, crickets, roaches, flying ants and flies are all victims of her curiosity... and brutality. Some mornings, Daddy has to sweep away the sizable carnage that Goodness left on the front porch the previous night.
Back to the kitchen where I left you - Goodness was still jumping and snapping at the fly while I quietly sneaked back to the living room. I had to hide the bone... I had to hide the bone. Try to understand, this crazy thought just ran through my mind. While Goodness was still busy with the fly, I had to find a new hiding place. Then suddenly, the unique hiding place appeared before my very eyes - the back of the sofa.
The zipper was not completely zipped and so it was easy for me to scratch out the foam inside. Scratch, scratch and scratch! A lot of foam came out and walla, a neat hole appeared. Plonk and in went the bone. Woof woof! What a brilliant dog! What an awesome hiding place.
Before Goodness could miss her bone, Daddy came down with Uncle Aaron. They saw the mess that I had made. Daddy was still smiling and that was good. He and Uncle Aaron discussed about the source of the scattered foams. Then with the instinct of detectives, they discovered the hole at the back of the sofa. Daddy immediately looked at me with very stern stare. The type of stare that shined a spotlight into one's soul. Woof! That was scary.
I crouched in submission. When Daddy stared silently, the best response was to behave cute but meek. That always caused his anger to go away. However, this time, it did not work. He suddenly shouted:
"Bad dog! Naughty dog!"
Goodness was a chicken. Daddy was not scolding her but she cowered in a corner immediately. I had to think fast. Accelerate the cute mode to the maximum - just did a couple of cute rolls and exposed my tummy to be rubbed. Not working either!
"House! Go to your house!"
Once again, the cowardly Goodness retreated first to our little dwelling place under the table. Daddy and Mommy had fenced up the wooden table to create a cage for us. So, that is our house in the house. Outside, on the porch, we have another cage. If we were on the front porch then the command, "house" means that we have to go into that cage. No confusion at all because the command, "house" means that we just need to enter the nearest cage.
The length of time confined to the 'house' will depend upon the levels of Daddy's anger. In that instance, Goodness and I stayed in the house for an hour. That was a long time. So, to leverage on our time of confinement, we went to sleep. We have learned that sleeping always makes the time go faster.While we were sleeping, we smelled cooked food.
Daddy had cooked beef and rice for us. That typically meant that the confinement was to end soon. And sure it did.
The warm food was simply delicious. Daddy loves us!
What does it mean when my dog does this?
Saturday, October 03, 2009 Posted by revalbertkang
When my dog barks, I quickly run to his side and hold him closely and ask him, “Who is it?” He looks at me and licks my face once or twice, then after that, he usually stops barking. If he did not, then I will ‘shussshhhhhhhh’ him. This normally would stop him from barking without me having to say any additional words. What does it mean when my dog licks my face? How can I stop him from barking without having to use water to spray him? When I say, “quiet”, I believe my dog thinks that I am barking like him.
Answer provided by Daddy Albert
Oh dear, your dog thinks that you are playing with him.
Make sure that whenever he barks for no reason at all, you should through your non-verbal and tone of voice, show that you disapprove his barking.
When he proceeds to lick your face, do not allow that. Stand up and show displeasure.
Your dog will soon learn that barking for fun is not fun at all. He will get scolded and ignored.
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