Chicken Soup for the Soul: What I Learned from the Dog
BY: Saralee Perel
You can avoid having ulcers by adapting to the situation:
If you fall in the mud puddle, check your pockets for fish.
~Author Unknown
"I'd like to arrange a photo shoot," a newspaper editor said to me recently. I had written an article on kayaking and he wanted to include pictures of my husband, Bob, and me in our two-person kayak.
With cool professionalism, I set a date. Then, in my ever-so-sophisticated fashion, I raced to the bedroom and tore through my closet, flinging shirts, shoes, and shorts over my shoulder.
"What are you doing?" Bob asked when a T-shirt landed on his head.
"They're taking our pictures Friday!" I screamed. "You have to tell me which outfit doesn't make me look fat!"
He left the room. I could hear him muttering down the hallway, "Oooh noooo...."
Early that Friday we kayaked to a lighthouse near where we live on Cape Cod. We scavenged for mussels. We were covered in black sea mud and caked-on sand. But we had allowed enough time to go back home so I could shower, change, obsess about my hair, and decide on earrings before we had to be back at the boat landing to have our photos taken. So we didn't have to rush as we returned from the lighthouse.
As we slowly paddled back in the dwindling afternoon light, we saw the beautiful silhouettes of a woman and her dog on a distant sand bar. Then we saw the dog lay down. And he didn't get up. He looked to be a very old Golden Retriever.
We watched as the woman coaxed him and then supported his hips so he could stand. They ambled on.
"Do you think they need help?" Bob asked.
"Would we be too late for the pictures?"
"I don't know, but there's no way we'd have time to go home first if we stop."
After a few labored steps, the dog laid down again. I looked down at my muddy clothes. I hesitated, hoping he'd get up. But when I saw that he couldn't, we turned the kayak towards them and began the long paddle to the sand bar. "Can we help?" I asked, as we beached the boat.
"We're fine," the woman said, in a way that showed she was used to caring for her old friend. She extended her hand in a warm greeting. She told us she lived in one of the cottages near the lighthouse. Then she looked at her dog. "This is Dexter."
Dexter got up and took a few steps toward me; then he fell. I carefully put my arms under his belly and lifted him. "I went through this with my last dog," I said to the woman. She looked away and shook her head. I knew then, that anytime we kayaked past her cottage in the future, I'd never ask, "Where's Dexter?"
The sweet dog stood comfortably in the water for a while, which took some weight off his basically useless hips. When his panting turned into what looked like a big goofy grin, we all laughed. It was a brief moment of bliss in the late day sun. And I knew I was lucky to be there for it, as I watched the shadows cast their lengthening fingers over the dunes behind the lighthouse.
Eventually we headed back in the kayak, arriving at the landing just as the photographer showed up. "How do I look?" I asked Bob.
He put his paddle down and assessed me. I stood in front of him, smiling. There was mud on my sunglasses and my left knee. My water shoes were encased with sea muck. My clothes were soaked. My hair had coagulated into several masses of knots held together with glue-like bug spray.
He didn't see any of those grimy remnants of the day on me. He just saw, in his mind, that we tried to help a failing dog on a sand bar. "You look beautiful," he said. And in my heart, I know he meant it.
BY: Saralee Perel
You can avoid having ulcers by adapting to the situation:
If you fall in the mud puddle, check your pockets for fish.
~Author Unknown
"I'd like to arrange a photo shoot," a newspaper editor said to me recently. I had written an article on kayaking and he wanted to include pictures of my husband, Bob, and me in our two-person kayak.
With cool professionalism, I set a date. Then, in my ever-so-sophisticated fashion, I raced to the bedroom and tore through my closet, flinging shirts, shoes, and shorts over my shoulder.
"What are you doing?" Bob asked when a T-shirt landed on his head.
"They're taking our pictures Friday!" I screamed. "You have to tell me which outfit doesn't make me look fat!"
He left the room. I could hear him muttering down the hallway, "Oooh noooo...."
Early that Friday we kayaked to a lighthouse near where we live on Cape Cod. We scavenged for mussels. We were covered in black sea mud and caked-on sand. But we had allowed enough time to go back home so I could shower, change, obsess about my hair, and decide on earrings before we had to be back at the boat landing to have our photos taken. So we didn't have to rush as we returned from the lighthouse.
As we slowly paddled back in the dwindling afternoon light, we saw the beautiful silhouettes of a woman and her dog on a distant sand bar. Then we saw the dog lay down. And he didn't get up. He looked to be a very old Golden Retriever.
We watched as the woman coaxed him and then supported his hips so he could stand. They ambled on.
"Do you think they need help?" Bob asked.
"Would we be too late for the pictures?"
"I don't know, but there's no way we'd have time to go home first if we stop."
After a few labored steps, the dog laid down again. I looked down at my muddy clothes. I hesitated, hoping he'd get up. But when I saw that he couldn't, we turned the kayak towards them and began the long paddle to the sand bar. "Can we help?" I asked, as we beached the boat.
"We're fine," the woman said, in a way that showed she was used to caring for her old friend. She extended her hand in a warm greeting. She told us she lived in one of the cottages near the lighthouse. Then she looked at her dog. "This is Dexter."
Dexter got up and took a few steps toward me; then he fell. I carefully put my arms under his belly and lifted him. "I went through this with my last dog," I said to the woman. She looked away and shook her head. I knew then, that anytime we kayaked past her cottage in the future, I'd never ask, "Where's Dexter?"
The sweet dog stood comfortably in the water for a while, which took some weight off his basically useless hips. When his panting turned into what looked like a big goofy grin, we all laughed. It was a brief moment of bliss in the late day sun. And I knew I was lucky to be there for it, as I watched the shadows cast their lengthening fingers over the dunes behind the lighthouse.
Eventually we headed back in the kayak, arriving at the landing just as the photographer showed up. "How do I look?" I asked Bob.
He put his paddle down and assessed me. I stood in front of him, smiling. There was mud on my sunglasses and my left knee. My water shoes were encased with sea muck. My clothes were soaked. My hair had coagulated into several masses of knots held together with glue-like bug spray.
He didn't see any of those grimy remnants of the day on me. He just saw, in his mind, that we tried to help a failing dog on a sand bar. "You look beautiful," he said. And in my heart, I know he meant it.
http://www.beliefnet.com/Inspiration/Chicken-Soup-For-The-Soul/2010/02/Muddling-Through.aspx?source=NEWSLETTER&nlsource=49&ppc=&utm_campaign=DIBSoup&utm_source=NL&utm_medium=newsletter
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