He appeared at our home in rural Breathitt county as a “bag of bones” – my wife's apt description. He made friends with our youngest son, nine years old at the time and already devoted to a young Cur named “Betty.” They were friends, Betty and our son, biding time together on the sweet hillside that was our backyard. And now they had another friend.
It was an early Fall day when this black Lab/Beagle mix showed up. He was fine with our sons and my wife, but not so with me. Perhaps this dog – he appeared to be a little over year old – had suffered at the hands of a man. Whatever it was about me, he would not let me touch him for a solid three months.
It had only been 3 years since we had lost our first family dog, “Shadow,” and I had never gotten over it. I feel it still. But life goes on and here came this gift out of the mountains, a dog in need of rescue, a family with two boys who needed him. Healing was in the offing for all, though hard to explain, deep and layered.
Our older son gave him a name: Oreo. A common name I am sure, for how many black dogs are there with touches of white? Oreo soon became one of the family and we had to find a new home for Betty. “You will have a much better experience with him if you get him 'fixed,'” the vet said. I'm sure he was right, and our walk with Oreo could not have been better.
That was a full fifteen years ago and in “dog years,” I'm told, Oreo is now over a hundred years old. He has lived well and he has been showing his age: the circling long and slow before sitting, the naps that seem endless, clear bodily ailments, loss of hearing and sight. He still gets around, even scampers, and he controls himself reasonably well. But we know it is almost time, and I am not ready.
Oreo is the one who has tried as much as anyone to teach me the value of being with. He doesn't know anything, really, except the constant sense that speaks in dog talk something like this: “Let's do something, just you and me. See my tail wagging. I can't wait! Let's do it just because. Not to do, but to be. You know. To be together. To have fun. It's easy, let me show you!”
I'm a slow learner. What is this thing of simple joy, simple being with, laying aside the serious, the pursuit, the project, the push? What does it mean to simply be? How could this dog lay for hours, content, in our living room. Doesn't he have something to do?!
Yes he does. His job is to be with.
For the rest of our lives there will be Oreo stories. His sweet skitishness, something that seemed to always say, “Take care of me, please!” And his loyalty, of course! Once when I was away for several weeks he laid across our bedroom door every night as protector. When I returned he resumed his regular place of sleep. His simple love...but anyone with a dog knows these things.
While there are countless memories and they would not be hard to dredge, I find this Oreo of ours had a life defined by a sort of consensus rather than highs and lows. He was always there, defining our lives, making us know our lives would be different, thinner, more sad without him. He made no claim nor complaint. He just wanted to be a friend, to let him love us with himself: that fun-loving, quiet, always hopeful Oreo.
I'm no fan of what is next. There will never be another Oreo. But maybe there will be a better me. I really did learn from Oreo, and it was none too soon. I learned my sons needed me, that work was necessary but they mattered more. My wife, too, of course, only more yet.
I learned that brokenness can end us or, by the mysterious grace of life, it can mend us. Oreo was broken and could do nothing about it. He let us heal him and in turn he brought joy to us. It might sound cheesy but I don't care: I always knew no matter what I was going through, Oreo would understand. He knew what trouble was, and he knew when things were hard. In those times his gift for being with was a sweet grace of life.
So sometime in the coming months we will cross that bridge and say goodbye. And we will give thanks for a chapter in our lives that was a gift from God by way of an unknown “rescue dog” from the Kentucky hills.
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