I have been weighed and found wanting. (No, certainly not on the physical scales!)
Several years ago Bobby got two puppies as an early birthday present. One of them was injured when we came home one night, though I'm not sure how. I took the pup to the vet, fully expecting them to put it to sleep. Instead, I came home with a 6 week old puppy that had a cast on its right front leg and a cast on the back left leg, along with instructions to keep the dog inside. If there's one thing my mother instilled in me, it's the principle that animals are outdoor animals (with an exception of goldfish). I shocked myself by putting the pup in the laundry room, and during the day I would even let him hang out in the kitchen. Week one was okay. Week number two he became a horrible toddler. When I closed the door to the laundry room to go to the grocery store, he went crazy. He peed on his cast. I came home to the screen on the window totally shredded. At night, he would howl until I got up to check on him. The minute I left the room, he would start back. And of course, the other adult in our household could actually sleep through it. Since the dogs often slept with the cat we had at the time, I tried letting him sleep by the garage door. He would howl and the cat would meow. So stupid me let the cat in thinking they would both calm down. It worked long enough for me to go to sleep, then wake up to a crashing in the living room. They tumped over a table, two plants, and scratched/shredded the couch. I was livid. The cat went outside, the dog got locked in the laundry room, and we went back to the vet the next day. She gave me a syringe holder and told me to fill it full of children's benadryl and squirt it in the dog's mouth about 30 minutes before I wanted to go to bed. It worked. A year later, that dog became the craziest dog we ever had. Bobby claims it was the Benadryl. We eventually had to put him on a runner (he had a crazy fascination for anything on wheels, from Bobby's chair to the lawn mower), which he eventually broke and ran away. I must confess I never once looked for him nor mourned him. On Bobby's birthday when he called me from work to inform that he didn't see the other pup and accidentally backed over him and I needed to bury him, I laughed. (This was the pup that put holes in EVERY SINGLE PAIR of hose I owned from nipping at my ankles.)
So when a friend of ours talks about taking a gosling and wrapping it up to make sure its warm and holding it in the bed, it's almost as if she's talking about caring for an extra-terrestial. I just don't get it.
I would like to assure friends (such as Rich) that when it comes to people I am much better. But I can't. I am some better, but some people like my husband claim I am missing the gift of mercy. When his close friend had prostrate cancer, he would call Bobby several times a day to review his symptoms and his "problems". It was starting to become a slight problem, and one day he needed to talk while Bobby was in a meeting at work. So he called the house, hoping that Bobby was out of the office and maybe home sick. I listened to him for about thirty minutes, then offered what I thought was encouragement.
One of his symptoms from the treatments was swelling in the legs. He had no pain nor discomfort, they just looked bad. So being the merciful, kind person that I am, I told him about my Mom's melanoma and how that leg stayed swollen and would for the rest of her life, but how she was able to do most everything she wanted to do. And I told him that Bobby, due to his paralysis, has swollen feet every night and we have to elevate his legs during the night (and sometimes during the day) and it's just one of those things we have to live with. It's not pretty, but as long as there's no pain involved, we've got a lot to be thankful for. He quickly got off the phone, and didn't call either one of us for at least two weeks. When Bobby was surprised he hadn't heard from him in a while, I told him about the abrupt end to our conversation. A relative of mine heard about it, and asked me why I didn't just tell the man to go jump off a bridge.
I was horrified. This man had an unpleasant, but manageable problem. I shared of people who are going through the same thing and have positive, active lives. What is so unmerciful about that?
So for my dear friend Hippo the Magnificent, should you get sick I won't discuss euthanasia with you. I will make you chicken soup and bite my tongue lest I attempt to join your wife in offering you encouragement that things aren't all that bad. I won't even tell you about the tombstone where the man had engraved "I told you I was sick." on it. I will use what little mercy I have in me and buy a card. Just hope my husband is with me when I pick it out.
And for those of you wondering "What on earth?" we've had two families in our church lose dear pets in the last two weeks, prompting conversations about animals in heaven, and the merciless comforting the comfortless. Or as our Pastor so bluntly put it to a ten year old girl, "For an animal, it's not in heaven. It's just in the ground."
Several years ago Bobby got two puppies as an early birthday present. One of them was injured when we came home one night, though I'm not sure how. I took the pup to the vet, fully expecting them to put it to sleep. Instead, I came home with a 6 week old puppy that had a cast on its right front leg and a cast on the back left leg, along with instructions to keep the dog inside. If there's one thing my mother instilled in me, it's the principle that animals are outdoor animals (with an exception of goldfish). I shocked myself by putting the pup in the laundry room, and during the day I would even let him hang out in the kitchen. Week one was okay. Week number two he became a horrible toddler. When I closed the door to the laundry room to go to the grocery store, he went crazy. He peed on his cast. I came home to the screen on the window totally shredded. At night, he would howl until I got up to check on him. The minute I left the room, he would start back. And of course, the other adult in our household could actually sleep through it. Since the dogs often slept with the cat we had at the time, I tried letting him sleep by the garage door. He would howl and the cat would meow. So stupid me let the cat in thinking they would both calm down. It worked long enough for me to go to sleep, then wake up to a crashing in the living room. They tumped over a table, two plants, and scratched/shredded the couch. I was livid. The cat went outside, the dog got locked in the laundry room, and we went back to the vet the next day. She gave me a syringe holder and told me to fill it full of children's benadryl and squirt it in the dog's mouth about 30 minutes before I wanted to go to bed. It worked. A year later, that dog became the craziest dog we ever had. Bobby claims it was the Benadryl. We eventually had to put him on a runner (he had a crazy fascination for anything on wheels, from Bobby's chair to the lawn mower), which he eventually broke and ran away. I must confess I never once looked for him nor mourned him. On Bobby's birthday when he called me from work to inform that he didn't see the other pup and accidentally backed over him and I needed to bury him, I laughed. (This was the pup that put holes in EVERY SINGLE PAIR of hose I owned from nipping at my ankles.)
So when a friend of ours talks about taking a gosling and wrapping it up to make sure its warm and holding it in the bed, it's almost as if she's talking about caring for an extra-terrestial. I just don't get it.
I would like to assure friends (such as Rich) that when it comes to people I am much better. But I can't. I am some better, but some people like my husband claim I am missing the gift of mercy. When his close friend had prostrate cancer, he would call Bobby several times a day to review his symptoms and his "problems". It was starting to become a slight problem, and one day he needed to talk while Bobby was in a meeting at work. So he called the house, hoping that Bobby was out of the office and maybe home sick. I listened to him for about thirty minutes, then offered what I thought was encouragement.
One of his symptoms from the treatments was swelling in the legs. He had no pain nor discomfort, they just looked bad. So being the merciful, kind person that I am, I told him about my Mom's melanoma and how that leg stayed swollen and would for the rest of her life, but how she was able to do most everything she wanted to do. And I told him that Bobby, due to his paralysis, has swollen feet every night and we have to elevate his legs during the night (and sometimes during the day) and it's just one of those things we have to live with. It's not pretty, but as long as there's no pain involved, we've got a lot to be thankful for. He quickly got off the phone, and didn't call either one of us for at least two weeks. When Bobby was surprised he hadn't heard from him in a while, I told him about the abrupt end to our conversation. A relative of mine heard about it, and asked me why I didn't just tell the man to go jump off a bridge.
I was horrified. This man had an unpleasant, but manageable problem. I shared of people who are going through the same thing and have positive, active lives. What is so unmerciful about that?
So for my dear friend Hippo the Magnificent, should you get sick I won't discuss euthanasia with you. I will make you chicken soup and bite my tongue lest I attempt to join your wife in offering you encouragement that things aren't all that bad. I won't even tell you about the tombstone where the man had engraved "I told you I was sick." on it. I will use what little mercy I have in me and buy a card. Just hope my husband is with me when I pick it out.
And for those of you wondering "What on earth?" we've had two families in our church lose dear pets in the last two weeks, prompting conversations about animals in heaven, and the merciless comforting the comfortless. Or as our Pastor so bluntly put it to a ten year old girl, "For an animal, it's not in heaven. It's just in the ground."
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