BY: Veronica S. Hutton
If you're alone, I'll be your shadow. If you want to cry, I'll be your shoulder. If you want a hug, I'll be your pillow. If you need to be happy, I'll be your smile. But anytime you need a friend, I'll just be me.
~Author Unknown
We rarely see a streak of red now, in the distant hills, when we scan the surrounding countryside from our home. There was a time when we could count on it. We would look up and point excitedly, "There she is! Do you see her!?" It was a beautiful sight, exhilarating. We can still count on the beauty of that red creature now, but usually she's lying in a big lump at our feet or just running ahead of the truck to the barn and back. She's content now just to be. She's our dog, Ginger.
She adopted us several years ago when I learned that her owners had moved from a nearby home and abandoned her. She had been hanging out with our neighbors' dogs, scavenging for scraps of food and affection.
Well, I knew my husband, Lowell, felt we already had enough pets, with a Jack Russell Terrier, my son Chase's cat, and a goat. But when this timid, Irish Setter-type dog showed up one afternoon, I knew there was something special about her. In my head, I heard my husband warning me, "If you feed her, she'll never leave!"
So I fed her.
When my husband returned from the barn with my son, he stopped dead in his tracks when he saw us on the porch. I had one hand laid protectively on Ginger's head. Lowell just said, "Uh-uh. No way. If it were up to you, we'd have a dozen strays around here!"
He and my son began to pet her, and I started pleading her case. I didn't think I would be able to convince Lowell, but Ginger came to her own defense. When my son took off through the field toward the barn, Ginger went with him, staying right by his side, literally touching him the whole way. My husband immediately changed his mind and Ginger changed her fate and prevented a major battle in my household with that one loving gesture.
Before long, we observed behaviors in Ginger that revealed a disturbing past. Not only was she extremely timid and submissive, but she would flinch or cower at any sudden movement around her. She was so easily frightened that we all learned to move more slowly and deliberately around her.
She also hoarded food. She would hide or bury food and animal carcasses everywhere around our home. Although she was being fed well, even leaving food in her dish, she would often show up with scraps of food or food wrappers, and frantically search for a place to hide them. Once, I looked out the back window to see her with half a loaf of bread, the slices still intact, crammed in her mouth. She was madly pacing back and forth along the bank behind our house, looking for just the right spot to conceal her bounty.
Even her requests for attention were timid, although she incessantly craved love and affection. She would just gently place her snout against our leg or hand and stand there patiently. Sometimes we might feel a gentle nudge. Occasionally, if we were lucky, we would feel the delicate, fleeting touch of the tip of her tongue on our hand.
Most people couldn't resist petting Ginger, so she received a lot of love. But if Ginger wasn't able to get affection from us or from visitors, she would insist that Fred, our other dog, give her affection. Ginger would inch closer and closer to him, then nudge him with her snout until he would lick her face over and over again.
Fred -- the ultimate "Alpha" -- assumed the role of caretaker and guardian for Ginger, just as he had for our whole family, including our son, our cat, our goat, and our baby goats. Fred could literally walk under Ginger, but he watched over her as if she were his queen. He would groom her, clean her bed, and even boss her around a little bit. And, because Fred is a born hunter, he would catch poor little critters for Ginger to proudly carry back home. She would add those carcasses, and other found treasures such as bones and discarded deer hides to what we came to refer to as "the boneyard."
Over time, Ginger became less timid. She flinched less and less. She had found a home where she was loved, nurtured, and safe.
Then, one day, she began to run.
Previously, she would run with Fred on the hunt, or run to the barn and back with the truck, but she just started running in the hills on her own. It was thrilling, yet puzzling, to see her sprinting across one of the distant rolling hills around our home. She wasn't chasing anything or going anywhere in particular; she was just running. She looked so free.
It was during that time that I was struggling with some emotional and spiritual problems of my own. I had gone into the woods one day, with Fred and Ginger, to pray. For so many years, I had been burdened with a deep shame and regrets about my past that had darkened my whole outlook on life. I couldn't seem to forgive myself, and I didn't feel worthy of God's forgiveness, either. I sat down on a log and prayed for forgiveness yet again; I prayed for a release from that intolerable weight that plagued me. I desperately wanted to feel God's forgiveness, to feel renewal. Then, I began to cry.
Fred, our protector, had kept his position several yards away, standing guard. But when I began to cry, Ginger came to me, and tenderly raised her front legs, placing a large paw on each of my shoulders, with her face resting against my face.
She hugged me.
I reached out and hugged her back, as I sobbed even harder. At that moment, the sunlight burst through the canopy of the trees overhead, and I felt such a release, a lightness. I truly felt God's love and forgiveness and healing in Ginger's "embrace."
I have been able to let go of the burden of my past now. I can find beauty in this life, and I feel the freedom to live and love more freely. Since then, my spirit has continued to heal in countless ways.
Ginger doesn't run in the hills like she used to, unless she's assisting Fred in a hunt. But I know why she did run. Anyone whose suffering spirit has been healed by acceptance and unconditional love knows why Ginger ran -- why her spirit had to run.
The scars from her former life may never completely fade away. Thankfully, she hardly ever flinches anymore. But we still have a "boneyard." We still see her anxiously searching to hide morsels of food, or proudly toting around some ghastly animal carcass. And we still treasure those few, delicate flickers of her tongue on our hand.
But now, Ginger's free to be.
And so am I.
http://www.beliefnet.com/Inspiration/Chicken-Soup-For-The-Soul/2010/02/Spirit-Run.aspx?source=NEWSLETTER&nlsource=49&ppc=&utm_campaign=DIBSoup&utm_source=NL&utm_medium=newsletter
Комментариев нет:
Отправить комментарий