Two Hearts Were Lifted
Tasha was a five year old Clumber Spaniel. She belonged to a recently divorced man. Tasha came into the couple’s lives as a joyful puppy. She was the color of cream, with beautiful amber eyes. Her face was sweet, with the sort of look that had all dog lovers wanting to hug her. She proved to be an easy going young dog. When her family broke apart, she was heartsore.
She had bonded strongly to the mistress. After the marriage break up her mistress moved away leaving Tasha at home. Her owner was seldom at home. When he was there, he was preoccupied with work. He did hire a dog walker, but that wasn’t the same as loving arms. Her coat grew lank, her appetite faltered, she was bored, lonely and became destructive.
Tasha chewed her way through some leather furniture, house plants, books, even ripping the drapes from a window then shredding them. Her owner grew impatient with her. She would eat something, then throw it up. He never knew what to expect when he opened the door at night. One day he brought a new lady home. The woman resented Tasha the moment she saw her. The dog was a mess, there was dog hair everywhere, she wanted Tasha gone.
Sadly, Tasha’s life took a turn for the worse. Her owner’s placed a higher value on a nice home, than on the dog. An ad was placed in the newspaper, you know the kind, “Free to Good Home.” The first people who phoned, took her. They beat her, shut her in a small room, grew angry when she barked. They drove downtown with her in the car, opened the door and kicked her out. Let someone else deal with the dog.
Tasha walked the streets for weeks, then months. She approached humans, searching for kindness. She was a matted mess, smelled bad, people passed her by. The day came when her legs gave out from hunger and despair. She lay on the cold ground, giving up. Live had proved too hard to linger.
Teenagers returning home from a baseball game, found her laying on the sidewalk. They rushed her to the Fire Hall, a block away. One of the Fire Fighters worked over the dog until she responded. Everyone celebrated! Especially one young girl who’s father had passed on. She claimed the dog then took her home where she fed her, brushed her coat until it gleamed. A strong bond grew between them. She changed Tasha’s name, to Angel. Her friends scoffed at the name. What she said, silenced her everyone.
“My dad was a Fire Fighter. When we found the dog, she was in MY driveway. It was my dad’s best friend who worked on my dog. He’s retired, and never goes to the Fire Hall. That day he had an urge to drop in. He was the only one who had ever taken classes on emergency pet first aid. My dad had heart disease. He died in his car, in my driveway, one year to the day that we found the dog. When my dog came home, my mom almost fainted, as Angel has the same amber colored eyes that dad did.”
The girl’s tears ran down her cheeks, “Dad felt he was going to die, he promised he would look out for me. The day we found Angel, I was thinking of suicide. I missed him so much. I couldn’t do it, I had Angel to care for.”
There are miracles that we never notice. While Tasha lay dying, did the girl’s father somehow manage to put things in place to help the dog and save his grieving daughter? I like to believe that angels reached out to bring an end to the pain for girl and the dog. Tasha became Angel. It suited her. Two young hearts were lifted of the burden of pain and sorrow that day and given a chance at a life filled with love and happiness. That, in my mind, is a small miracle.
