Chicken Soup for the Dog Lover's Soul (38 page)

Our Tennessee fall had deepened. Though leaves would blow down from the woods for at least another month, frigid nights already frosted the leaves banked by our doorstep. Just as I was getting good and chilly, my husband drove into his parking spot beside my car. “What are you doing sitting out here in the cold?” he asked.

I cracked the window open an inch to explain that Lucky was now crazy and I could never get out of the car again.

“Well,” my practical husband said, “Let’s go see what’s upsetting the big fellow.”

Now that the mister was home, Lucky permitted me out of the car. As we approached the doorstep with a flashlight, the dog ran ahead and began a bizarre impersonation of a giraffe imitating a pointer. That’s when we heard it—ormore accurately, felt it—a buzzing sound from beneath a leaf pile. It could mean only one thing: a rattler. (When I encountered my first rattlesnake, what surprised me was that rattlers don’t rattle; it’s your teeth that rattle as the chills run up and down your spine.)

For some reason, the snake remained coiled in its chosen spot until the county sheriff arrived with his deputies and shotguns. As we raked the leaf cover aside, we saw that the timber rattler was so large that a man could not girdle it with the thumbs and middle fingers of both hands. We could also see why the snake had remained in place for so long. Picture a dozen little snakes squiggling around in all directions; with two large, uniformed deputies, armed with garden rakes and shovels, scrambling to collect the snake babies into a tall container; and a great black-and-white dog running back and forth, barking, dancing and “helping.”

When the dancing was over and all the snakes caged, the exhausted sheriff said that he had worked the hills for many years, but had never seen “such a snake.” Then he said, “Ma’am, it’s a good thing you didn’t step in that mess o’ snakes in the dark. That dog saved your life tonight. I think you owe him a big Angus steak.”

We all looked at Lucky who had returned to normal: a homely, friendly and slightly stupid-looking dog, wagging his tail at his teammates. He was an unlikely hero, but a hero all the same.

The sheriff then paid Lucky the highest compliment a country dog can receive, “Yes sir, that’s a
fine
dog you’ve got there.”

We had to agree.

Mariana Levine

A Dog’s Day in Court

When I was growing up, we lived about a quarter mile froma train crossing. Our dog, Lenny, had a very annoying habit: he howled whenever a train whistled for the crossing. It probably stemmed fromhis very sensitive hearing. It did notmatter if hewas outside or in the house. He howled and howled until the train went by. On some days, when the wind was right, he would even howl for the crossings farther down the track. We learned to put upwith the noisy ruckus, mainly because we loved our pet so much.

Early one morning while we were eating breakfast, we heard the squeal of a train’s braking efforts followed by a terrible crash. My brother dashed out of the house, ran to the end of our lane and discovered amangledmass jammed on the cowcatcher of the massive locomotive. Parts of a car were strewn everywhere. Unfortunately, the driver of the car had died instantly.

Back in the house, we guessed there had been a crash and called the local rescue squad. But we all immediately said to each other, “Lenny didn’t howl. The whistle must not have blown!”

At the scene,my brother recognized what was left of the car as that of his buddy’s father and knew immediately the sad, sad news that would now have to be conveyed to the family. When the chief of the rescue squad arrived, my brother told him, “The engineer could
not
have blown the whistle for the crossing, because our dog did not howl. And he always does!”

The story of Lenny’s howling circulated rapidly around our small town as everyone shared in the grief of the wife and family. Speculation ran high as to whether the whistle had truly been blown as the engineer claimed. Some folks even came to witness the “howling dog” phenomenon and left convinced the whistle must not have sounded!

Left without the breadwinner, the family of nine was in dire straits. One of the county’s best-known and most successful lawyers decided to pursue a claim against the, by now, infamous Soo Line on behalf of the widow and children. (On contingency, of course!) The lawyer hired an investigator and recording technician. For days, at all hours, the two men frequented our yard and our home listening for oncoming trains and faithfully recording Lenny’s howl. Lenny never failed to echo with his characteristic, piercing howl the sharp wail of an approaching freight as it neared the crossing at which the tragedy had occurred. They even recorded his howling as a whistle was blown at the neighboring crossings in both directions when the wind was right. The lawyer was convinced.

The taped evidence, presented in court, along with the testimony of my family members, convinced the judge and jury. The settlement awarded to the family secured their home and future. County court records give evidence of the success of a “dog’s day in court!”

Sr. Mary K. Himens, S.S.C.M.

The Bravest Dog

Lisa smiled, watching from the back door as her husband, Mike, disappeared into the woods surrounding their Tennessee home with Sadie, his two-year-old English setter, bounding at his side.

Mike had always wanted a dog of his own, and the year before, Lisa’s father had rescued Sadie from a neglectful owner and brought her to them. At first she was pitifully timid and mistrustful. She’d cower and whimper at any sudden moves in her direction, yelp and run at the sound of loud noises.

But Lisa had combed the tangles out of the long hair of her white-and-black-spotted coat and Mike had spent hours gently coaxing and playing with her, winning her trust. With lots of attention and TLC, Sadie grew into a happy, adoring pet who shadowed Mike everywhere.

Lisa’s dad had said it right from the beginning: “If you’re good to this dog, she’ll be good to you.” And this morning Sadie would prove the power of that bond beyond all question. . . .

Sadie led theway along the familiar trail, the one she and Mike tramped every morning and evening. Sometimes she’d flush birds from the bushes, then sit watching, mesmerized, as they soared into the sky. This always amused Mike. Occasionally, she’d dive into the underbrush, lured by an interesting scent. But she’d always come when Mike called or blew his coach’s whistle.

She’s such a good dog,
Mike thought, picturing her romping with his three-year-old son, Kyle, and two-year-old daughter, Chelsea. She was always gentle, even patiently submitting to their inadvertent ear-tugging and tail-pulling.

They’d walked about a third of a mile, and Sadie was off exploring when Mike suddenly felt a sharp pain in his wrist. He’d experienced similar aches recently but shrugged them off when they quickly disappeared. Probably bursitis, he’d thought. This time, however, the burning pain began to shoot up his arm like wildfire, and a wave of nausea swept over him.
What’s going on?
he wondered nervously, deciding:
I’d better turn back.

But as he fumbled for the whistle around his neck to call Sadie, an excruciating pain slammed into his chest as though he’d been hit with an anvil. He dropped to his knees, gasping for breath. Desperate, he gave the whistle a short blow—all he could manage before collapsing facedown on the ground. With pain searing through his chest like a burning knife, and his left arm numb, he had a terrifying thought:
I’m having a heart attack—and I’m only
thirty-six!

Suddenly, he felt Sadie at his side, nudging him gently with a soft, wet nose. Sensing that Mike was in trouble, she whined softly and gazed at Mike with worried eyes that seemed to ask,
What’s wrong?

Mike realized Sadie was his only chance. He knew she’d never leave his side to go for help, even if he tried to send her. And Lisa wouldn’t miss them for at least an hour—maybe more.
Maybe if I hang onto her, she can drag me
close enough to call for help,
he thought.
But can she do it?
Will she?
he worried. With his last ounce of strength, he reached out and grabbed Sadie’s collar with his good arm. “Home, girl!” he urged.

Sadie sensed it was up to her. Slowly the 45-pound dog started to drag the 180-pound man back down the rough trail. Groaning with pain, Mike struggled to hang on. He thought of Lisa waiting at home. Lisa, whom he’d met at work when he’d moved from California six years before. Beautiful and bright Lisa, who’d quickly captured his heart with her room-lighting smile and gentle soul. He recalled their wedding day, when he’d told her, “You’ve made me the proudest man in the world.” And that feeling only intensified during their time together.
Not enough
time!
Mike thought now.
We have our whole lives ahead of us.

Sadie struggled and tugged, staggering beneath the burden of Mike’s weight as it strained her muscles. As she dragged Mike over roots and rocks, his agony grew. The viselike pain constricted his chest as he thought
I’ll never
make it.

Images of his children floated in his mind: little Chelsea toddling around the house clutching her precious Raggedy Ann doll. And Kyle, his constant shadow, helping Daddy work on his truck and playing catch in the yard.

I can’t die,
Mike told himself.
My family needs me!

Suddenly, another picture popped into his mind. The card with the family photo they’d sent out last Christmas, with Chelsea on Lisa’s lap and Kyle on his, and sitting pretty in front—Sadie, upon whose furry shouldersMike’s life now depended. But by that point he was starting to fade in and out of consciousness. Each time blackness descended and Sadie felt his fingers loosen their grip on her collar, she would stop and lick his face and whine urgently until his eyes flickered open again.

Somehow Mike managed to grasp her collar again and hang on, in spite of the crushing pain in his chest as Sadie set out once more. Rocks and vines snagged and tore at his clothes as Sadie continued to pull him over the rough terrain, pausing only occasionally as she panted to catch her breath, marshaling her strength before plowing on.

Then she encountered an even greater test: a rolling hill. One which she easily bounded up and down most days— when she wasn’t dragging a weight four times her size! Sadie paused for an instant, summoning her strength.

“You can do it, girl!” Mike urged.

With a lick of his face, Sadie set herself again and began the torturous climb, digging in her paws and straining with all her might, battling for every inch, growling with the effort.

“That’s it, Sadie!” Mike encouraged as she slowly dragged him up the slope, foot by agonizing foot, until finally they reached the top—and then slipped down the other side.

Mike spotted his neighbor’s house, but by now he was too weak and short of breath to call for help.
That’s the last
thing I’m ever going to see,
he thought, feeling unconsciousness slipping over him.

But somehow his fingers still clutched Sadie’s collar. And she staggered stubbornly on and on, dragging Mike’s unconscious dead weight, refusing to stop—until finally she tugged him through the opening in the fence, across the backyard and to the foot of the steps leading to the Millers’ porch.

Once there, she barked and howled like never before.

Hearing the noise, Lisa wondered what was going on. She opened the back door and gasped, spotting her husband crumpled on the ground with Sadie hovering over him.

“Mike! What’s wrong?” she screamed, racing to his side.

Mike’s eyes blinked open. “My heart, I think,” hemoaned.

Dear God!
she panicked, rushing to the phone to call 911, then dashing back to Mike.

While they waited for the ambulance, Mike croaked: “Sadie saved me. She dragged me home from the woods.”

Lisa stared in disbelief at the panting dog who still refused to leave Mike’s side. Then, still gripping Mike’s hand, she threw her other arm around Sadie, pulled her close and choked, “Good girl, Sadie.”

At the hospital, doctors discovered Mike had suffered a massive heart attack and performed emergency triple-bypass surgery. “You’re going to be fine, but you’re lucky to be alive,” doctors told him afterward. Mike knew who to thank.

And he did. When he got home a week later, as Sadie bounced around him, overjoyed to see him, Mike produced a bag of bones from the butcher. “Treats for my hero,” he said, hugging her.

Today Mike is fully recovered. He and his dog still walk together, and Mike spends many hours pitching sticks that Sadie happily retrieves. He can’t do enough for her, knowing that if Sadie hadn’t been with him, he wouldn’t have made it home alive.

Lisa remains amazed that Sadie was able to drag Mike all the way back to the house by herself. She says, “I guess it just shows how strong the power of love really is.”

Sherry Cremona-Van Der Elst
Previously appeared in
Woman’s World Magazine

off the mark
    
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   by Mark Parisi