Their shadows raced across the ground, fleeting patches of darkness. Like spirits nearly visible, “…the substance of things hoped for, evidence of things unseen.” Their existence being enough to block the light, but not enough to be seen. Above, in the brilliant Carolina blue sky, their sharp cries pierced the morning air. Slowly, the pair of Red Tail Hawks made their way up the river, twisting and turning in figure-eight patterns; seeking, searching, hunting for their next meal. So many times, the river has been a source of my inspiration, a bridge for which God sends to me the words with which I share.
The morning chill had given way to a welcoming warmth, despite the frigid air. It was just a couple days into February, yet it felt more like the beginning of spring. My weekly walk to church had culminated in the parking lot as Ms. Dorothy had picked me up just yards away and carried me honorably the remainder of the way. Each time she stops to beckon me into her vehicle, we make a quick rearrangement of her week’s collections in the passenger seat before I jump in, backpack, walking stick, and all. Encouraged from our encounter, like the first few sips of a morning coffee, we eagerly chatted about the reorganization and plethora of oddities she had collected in her life that week.
“Those boots I’ll probably use for firewood after I take out the laces,” she said with a wink and a grin.
I laughed, “Firewood?”
“Yeah, look at em, they’re not much good for anything else. Somebody dropped them off, and ain’t nobody gonna want a pair of boots that look like that.”
Looking at the well-worn boots, I had to muse about Dorothy and her take on life. That would have to wait for another story, another time.
In the back of my mind, I too had many items to share, but unlike hers, mine had no tangible evidence. Memories are said to be like smoke in the wind, they are seen but for a moment and then are gone. Just the week before, as I once more sat on the picnic table by the General Store, I had written in my journal about the two town dogs, Barney and Otis. Each had made an impression upon me, although they never graced my presence for more than just a few minutes each time we met. It was in my reflection of how each had their own character. Barney, with his unrivaled enthusiasm, would follow me to the picnic table and jump up on it, so eager he was for affection. Otis, meanwhile, would patiently sit upon the ground and lean against my leg where I sat. He would gladly take the petting that would follow in time.
It was during my thoughts the previous week that I realized it had been many months since the last time we had shared our time under the broad elm by the river. Both Barney and Otis had been up for many hours as was evidence of their wet, muddy coats. It was something out of the ordinary, in a way, since they usually were clean and reserved. Each had been in the river and looked to be quite animated that particular morning from my recollection. After our brief time of greeting, they soon ran across the bridge and down on the other bank to where they continued their hunt. Evidently, they had found a den of groundhogs and were bent on capturing the remainder of the brood. I watched as the two friends worked together, Barney sniffing them out and then chasing them toward Otis who would patiently wait at the far end of the rock pile where their prey kept quarters. It was a fascinating adventure to observe. Had I known it was to be my last, I might have filmed it rather than merely observing it.
Not long after that chilly morning together, Barney was struck and killed on the road somewhere near the bend in the road above his house. We all knew it was just a matter of time. Barney had grown so old and careless that he would sometimes lay in the middle of the parking lot at the store while cars and trucks would haphazardly pull in, not realizing a dog was sleeping in their path. After Barney died, Otis wandered around town, like a lost soul, looking for his buddy. He was never the same afterward. We all, too were changed in seeing the poor dog missing his old friend. Who could blame him; we all did?
So, with a heavy heart last week, my thoughts turned toward Otis and what may have happened to him since I hadn’t seen him in quite a while. The last story I had heard of him was that he saw some people going down the river in kayaks. They petted and spoke to him, kindly giving him some much-needed attention. Otis was so happy to been shown affection that he followed them, swimming and running when he could down the river; and not for just a few yards either. He went with them all the way down the river to a point they eventually put him in the boats with them for fear of him tiring and drowning. Finally, when they reached their destination, they carried Otis back to Collettsville, his home. The lady that brought him back told the people working at the store about his adventure and that she figured it was best to bring him back to where he first started following them.
It was true. Otis, the dog, was home again.
Oddly, as my thoughts had turned toward them last week, it was this week that I learned of the sad news. Otis had been put down. He had developed a brain tumor and, toward the end, couldn’t even open his mouth to eat. It was a bitter end to an old hound dog that had blessed the hearts of so many in the community. Like the sauntering old Otis from the Andy Griffith show, you couldn’t help loving him, even though he nor Barney may have been the cutest dogs around, they were definitely the most loveable.
Once more, my mind still goes back to another morning of our time together. It was a cold, wet morning when I rounded the bend in the road, and there the two town dogs stood, eagerly waiting on me at the edge of the store parking lot. At first, they were hesitant to acknowledge me – a stranger walking down the road in a coat and toboggan. But when I called to them, greeting them, they instantly knew me by the sound of my voice and began to bounce on their front legs, whispering quiet barks of fog into the chilly morning air. Their tails beat so violently that they were quite literally the epitome of – the tail wagging the dog. They were cold and wet, so when I reached our bench at the front of the general store, I could sense that they wanted to share a moment or two together. Years on the farm had taught me to sense an animal’s demeanor, be it good or bad. That day it was one of welcome relief. Thankfully, I had left home early enough to afford me plenty of time before Church started. Enough time that I sat petting my two friends while seated on the bench in front of the Collettsville General Store as they both drifted off to sleep. It was a heartwarming moment, knowing that they had eagerly invited me to join them and then, in their comfort with me, fell asleep on my lap. Their trust and instinctual love allowed for them the presence of mind to let down their guards and to rest in peaceful sleep. In life, there are those rare times that you are aware that your presence is actually making a difference. Sometimes, those moments come in unexpected ways, and when they do, we should take comfort in knowing that God is giving us an example of our love for him, allowing us to find peace in his presence, and when we do, we can finally fully trust and relax in his arms; giving all our cares up to him so that we have nothing to fear. “So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”[1]
And for a few minutes, one cold, chilly Sunday morning, two dogs and an old man come together to find solace in one another’s presence, each being cared for by God’s loving hands.
These are the days that sometimes pass like the shadow of the hawk upon the ground, fleeting, but when we look toward the sky, we know from whence they came.
Thanks be to God.
[1] Isaiah 41:10 KJV
