Roux: I have my big purple ball! My ball makes me happy!
Jason: Roux, do you need to go outside?
Roux: I like to run around with my big purple ball…
Jason: Roux, do you need to go potty? Do you need to go potty?
(Jason runs to back door, and opens back door. Roux goes to her bed.)
Jason: Roux!! Ugh.
Roux: I will not obey.
Jason: Megan, she’s your dog!
Megan: She’s a feminist.
When I was in middle school, a friend of my Dad’s brought a collie to our house. He had found her on the side of the road, hit by a car. He took her to the vet. He couldn’t keep her because of the apartment he lived in, so he brought her to us. He had named her Penny. Penny looked just like the famous collie, Lassie, just a lighter shade of brown.
Over the years, Penny would be there to see us get on the school bus each morning and to welcome us home each day.
My senior year, our marching band trip was to Walt Disney World. My Dad was going as one of the chaperones and we were leaving the house to go to the school. It was that part of the day when evening was coming on. The sun was slowly slipping away and the moon was slowly rising to takes its place. Penny was nowhere to be seen. I remember thinking that this was odd. She was always around. She always there to greet us or to see us off. But on this evening, she wasn’t.
Something deep within me knew that something wasn’t right.
I called her name, “Penny! Penny!” Nothing. No bark. No collie feet running through the woods. Nothing. The strange feeling I had that something was wrong wouldn’t leave me.
I called again. Still nothing. My Dad was urging me to get into the truck. We were going to be late. It would be ok, he said, she’ll find her way back. I kept calling. Then, I heard something. I asked my Dad, “Did you hear that?” He said he didn’t. I called Penny’s name again, and the sound of faint bark could be heard. Soft, quiet. Something was indeed wrong.
I took off running, despite the cries of my Dad telling me to wait or to get a flashlight. Back behind our house was a huge creek that would run into the Pamunkey River. There was a trail from our house to the creek and another trail that would lead to my grandparents’ home next door. I ran, stopping every so often to call Penny’s name again, listen for her bark, and then run in that direction.
I ran down the path, jumping over dead logs. I crossed the creek using the old oak that had fallen in just the right place to serve as a bridge. I struggled to get up the steep hill using weeds and branches to pull myself up it.
I reached the top and there was this old abandoned house. No one had lived here for years. Windows were broken. Doors were missing. It looked like something out of a horror film. As I ran around to the front of the house, I stopped to see Penny standing on the roof of the porch.
Without a moment of hesitation, I ran into the dark house, up the stairs, and found the room whose missing window, Penny had walked through. I called her to me, and she came back into the house and together we ran out of the house, down the hill, across the old oak bridge, and up the path back to my house. Somewhere in the midst of this running back, we bumped into my Dad would was coming after me with a flashlight. But, we didn’t stop, we both kept running until we made it home.
I’ve been sitting in my office the past few days working on an adult curriculum for our church’s summer Sunday school. Our Summer Sunday School program is called “One Church, One Book.” We’re using Kate DiCamillo’s book Because of Winn-Dixie, which captures the adventures of young Opal and her dog Winn-Dixie in a small town.
As I’m rereading portions of the book and writing this curriculum, I’m remembering my own pets. Especially my last real pet, Lady.
About 11 years ago, I came back to work after a lunch break and noticed that a black lab was wondering around the building. She was thin, so thin. She showed evidence of having just had puppies, though the puppies were no where to be found. She was shy at first, not sure if she could trust me or not. I went inside, found a bowl and poured water in it. I took the bowl outside and set it out for her. A coworker found dog food somewhere in the building and she put that outside too. After we had gone back in, the lab would finally come get some food and water. And she stayed.
At the end of the day, someone told me I should take her home. I wasn’t too sure about that. While outside, the lab came around, now no longer shy or frightened. I thought, well, if she doesn’t get in the car, then it’s settled. I opened the back door of my car and without a word, the lab jumped in and sat down. So, it was settled. She was going home with me.
This was about the time that Dad was staying home from work because of the prostate cancer he was fighting. I took the dog home, much to the surprise of my parents, and quickly said, “We’re not keeping her. Just for a few days, until I can find a home for her.” And, I was just as quick to add, “Don’t name her. Because once we name her, she’s ours.”
I came home fro
m work a few days later, still unable to find a home for the lab, and she is outside on the deck with Dad. A relationship was forming between this dog and my Dad in those few days. Dad had named her “Lady”. The name stayed, and so did Lady.
Lady became a companion for Dad during those long days of staying home when he really wanted to be at work. In the book Because of Winn-Dixie, young Opal reflects on how she just talked and talked to Winn-Dixie and he listened. Dogs are good listeners. I imagine Dad sitting on the back deck petting Lady and talking things out with her. And Lady resting her black head on Dad’s knee giving him advice in the way only a dog can.
Lady was also my listener during that stormy times of my life. We would go on walks through the woods or play fetch in the yard. After Dad died, Lady still hung around. She would sleep by my bed at night. After one stormy night where she got frightened, she slept on the foot of my bed for awhile. She seemed to fill a gap for me. A gap I didn’t realize I had at the time.
Lady died about a year ago. She was a dog with 9 lives, having survived being hit by a car, a really bad cold one summer, and going blind in one eye. But she lived a good life and was a blessing to me . . .and my Dad.
