{"id":2218,"date":"2019-10-14T03:10:38","date_gmt":"2019-10-14T03:10:38","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/gmachronicles.com\/?p=2218"},"modified":"2019-10-14T03:10:38","modified_gmt":"2019-10-14T03:10:38","slug":"where-there-is-doubt","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/gmachronicles.com\/index.php\/where-there-is-doubt\/","title":{"rendered":"Where there is doubt"},"content":{"rendered":"

There\u2019s a little black dog curled up with his head under my chair as I sit here typing.\u00a0 He has shaggy, spiky-haired ears that make him look like Gandalf suffering from bedhead. There are fluffy, long tufts of hair between his large front toes, furthering the wizardly image.\u00a0 When furrowed, which is often, his ginger-colored eyebrows create a facial expression of intense scrutiny and concentration.\u00a0 Usually when I look down, he\u2019s watching me (can he hear my head turn?) and those eyebrows telegraph a lot of questions.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m not sure how he got here.\u00a0 No, that\u2019s not quite right.\u00a0 The brain knows the facts, dates, and details about it, but my heart is still puzzled about the whole thing.<\/p>\n

When your dog dies, people quickly ask, \u201cAre you going to get another one?\u201d\u00a0 I had been pondering this myself for some time, long before my ailing 13-year-old Basset Hound fell victim to cancer just about eight weeks ago.\u00a0She had been declining for more than a year, so I had lots of time to consider it.\u00a0 I decided, and even said to a few people, that it was time for me to take a break from dog ownership.\u00a0 I\u2019m gone all day, there\u2019s travel occasionally, it\u2019s tough to always find dog accommodations.\u00a0Then there\u2019s the constant wallet punch, as veterinary expenses continue to skyrocket.\u00a0 Maybe later in life, after retirement from a regular office schedule\u2014that\u2019s what I said.\u00a0 And some part of me believed it.<\/p>\n

Yet, here is Gandalf the Frowner dozing quietly, hairy toes curled contentedly under his chest as he recharges his batteries from a fierce game of fetch.\u00a0 GTF, whose real name is Gus, puts roughly 500-percent effort into everything the universe brings. Then the balance of nature requires the restorative nap.<\/p>\n

I honestly can\u2019t remember when I began to realize how deeply lonely I would be without a dog.\u00a0 The timetable is fuzzy, but some time over the summer, as my old pal got slower and sadder and sicker, I began looking at breed rescue sites and a couple of shelters that are well-run, just to watch what was happening and acquaint myself with the process.\u00a0 I put in a couple of queries on dogs with irresistible photos, but all had been claimed.\u00a0 That was just fine.<\/p>\n

Then the Big Bang happened.\u00a0Within a matter of less than four weeks in late summer, my old girl was diagnosed as terminally ill, she died, and Gus came here to live.\u00a0 That sounds as though he showed up at the door, rang the bell, and demanded entry, and of course he didn\u2019t; he\u2019s way too short to reach the doorbell. He appeared on a website for rescued Dachshunds in Tennessee,<\/a> I put in an application, was approved, and drove a couple of counties over to bring him home.\u00a0 The whole process was strangely surreal and watching myself do it almost an out-of-body experience.\u00a0 Though a deeply Christian person, I don\u2019t put much credence in the concept of being \u201cled\u201d to do something.\u00a0 Yet wherever the pilot resided, there was another power somewhere driving me to connect with this dog.<\/p>\n

If that weren\u2019t strange enough, Gus is in many ways–nearly all ways, come to think of it–the dog I never wanted before.\u00a0 Let\u2019s start with size.\u00a0 Raised with big dogs, I was fooled into thinking that small dogs are dumb and yippy.\u00a0Gus is a long-haired, standard Dachshund, a sturdy and muscular 20 pounds, twice as large as the most-common wiener dogs.\u00a0 That\u2019s still small to me.\u00a0 Moreover, his energy level sparked a shocking adjustment; Bassets are soul relaxants in canine form, ever-mellow, relaxed, and universally happy to live and let live.\u00a0Dachshunds are intense little thinkers, bustling problem-solvers who move everywhere at a rapid clip, miss nothing, and insist on explanations for the unidentified.\u00a0 Apparently, they are also astute listeners.\u00a0 Two nights ago I said, more rhetorically than anything, \u201cI wonder where your ball is, Gussie?\u201d He stared at me briefly (translation chip processing, perhaps?), then trotted off out of sight to another room and returned with it.\"\"<\/p>\n

Ask a Basset such a question, and the return is likely a look that indicates, \u201cBeats me. If you find it, have fun.\u00a0 (Yawn.)\u201d<\/p>\n

As anyone who has ever rescued an animal will tell you, you must prepare to work with whatever you agree to take on.\u00a0 With Gus, it’s been surprisingly easy. \u00a0Estimated to be about three years old, he arrived fully house-trained, very sociable with adults, children and other dogs, and game to achieve detente with a dominant and opinionated cat.\u00a0 He doesn\u2019t chew or beg.\u00a0 His adjustment to routines of the household and the new days of his life was\u2014rather like his dancing little gait\u2014fast, efficient and precise.<\/p>\n

Yet stashed somewhere among the new dog beds and lighter leashes and different treats there is a tiny hoard of guilt that lingers.\u00a0 It\u2019s too soon for me to return in equal measure the grateful adoration he works so hard to express. The adjustment that has not yet arrived is the one deep in the heart, where the pain of losing my long-eared friend and housemate of 13 years stubbornly remains.\u00a0 The other day I heard a deep bark and thought for a split second it was her.\u00a0 I need to take the unopened cans of food she never ate to one of the shelters and clear space in the cabinet, but I can\u2019t make myself pick them up.\u00a0 I have been forced to realize, all predictions to the contrary, that this little guy who fetches like a demon and burrows deep next to me on the couch is not the wizard (however Gandalf-like) who can wand that grief away.\u00a0 It is wonderful that he is here, but healing and surrendering the heart again is a different matter, something on a different plane, with its own timetable.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow\u2019s he doing?\u201d the neighbors ask when we are all out walking the dogs, and I respond, brightly, \u201cGreat!\u201d Because it\u2019s true.\u00a0 They don\u2019t ask how I am doing, thank goodness, because some days the answer would be uncertain. Grief is the most unpredictable of all companions.\u00a0 All that can be done is to walk on through the days (or, rather trot on, lest I get left behind) and apply faith to the forward motion.<\/p>\n

On the first Saturday in October, our church honors the traditional Feast of St. Francis with an annual Blessing of the Animals.\u00a0 Gussie and I made our way carefully through the mixed crowd of small and gigantic (at least, to him) dogs and stepped around a crate of lovely red hens.\u00a0 The service is a favorite rite of fall for me, and last year, my old hound dog received the blessing.\u00a0 We stood in the cool sunshine in a circle, people and their animal friends, and as we bowed our heads for the opening prayer, I looked down at the little face looking up with a gaze of utter focus, those ginger eyebrows knit in concentration.\u00a0 Tears sprang suddenly out and down, big fat ones like the first drops that smack the windshield to herald an unexpected summer storm, as the pastor began to read out the Saint\u2019s familiar words:<\/p>\n

\u201cLord, make me an instrument of Your peace;
\nWhere there is hatred, let me sow love;
\nWhere there is injury, pardon;
\nWhere there is doubt, faith;
\nWhere there is despair, hope;
\nWhere there is darkness, light;
\nAnd where there is sadness, joy.\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n

\"\"\"\"<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

There\u2019s a little black dog curled up with his head under my chair as I sit here typing.\u00a0 He has shaggy, spiky-haired ears that make him look like Gandalf suffering from bedhead. There are fluffy, long tufts of hair between his large front toes, furthering the wizardly image.\u00a0 When furrowed, which is often, his ginger-colored […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":2219,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[12],"tags":[62,127,128,126],"class_list":["post-2218","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-mid-life-adventures","tag-basset-hounds","tag-daschunds","tag-prayer-of-st-francis","tag-rescue-dogs"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/gmachronicles.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2218","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/gmachronicles.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/gmachronicles.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/gmachronicles.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/gmachronicles.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2218"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/gmachronicles.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2218\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/gmachronicles.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/2219"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/gmachronicles.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2218"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/gmachronicles.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2218"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/gmachronicles.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2218"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}