Better Get Out of the Way!

Posted on by H.J. Hill

Imagine a Sherman tank about 18 inches tall running full speed with no one at the controls. Now imagine that it rolls directly at your legs and you can’t get out of its way fast enough. That’s a bulldog on the high setting. You don’t have to worry about moving your legs. They will take care of that for you.

Dodging a barreling bulldog is good practice for maintaining balance. Of course, it helps immensely if you see them coming. Or hear them coming. When several bullies get to galloping, well, just think about a stampede in an old Western movie. Turn the volume down a little bit and you’ve got the idea. Oh, and like in the old movies, if they’re headed in your direction, RUN!

Our dogs are happy when they are running. They don’t mean to take my legs out from under me or bowl me over. They don’t mean to stomp on my feet or cause me trouble. Still I had better pay attention and I had better get out of the way. Even if they put on the brakes, they slide. Alertness is a price we all pay for living in a fast-paced world.

It’s not cowardice to move out of the path of a runaway bulldozer. Or bulldog.

Proverbs 22:3 tells us: “A prudent man foreseeth the evil, and hideth himself: but the simple pass on and are punished. “  (KJV) The simple person is not even stupid, but naïve or gullible. How many times have I found myself in that description? Never mind. I’m not going to count them.

It took me a couple of bulldog stampedes and other nasty events in my life, but now my middle name is prudence. (Not really. My middle name starts with a “J”, but you get the idea.)

 

©2016 H.J. Hill All Rights Reserved.

What’s the Magic Word?

Posted on by H.J. Hill

Snoopey is the Alpha of the pack, so she is always first to be invited to Doggy Study Hall. She came into the hall one day, laid her head on my lap, and then jumped up and lay down again, unable to settle herself.

She looked me in the eye and made a deep, mellow rumble from her throat through her barely open lips. Ruum. Ruum. Ruum. She waited and then repeated it, pausing between each Ruum. Never had I heard her or any of the bulldogs make that type of noise. By the third round of Ruum, I was working to translate the bulldoggese into some human tongue. What was she doing? Why this thrumming sound?

Then I realized. I had forgotten to set up the speaker and the music that I had been playing for them. (To be honest, the music is for me, too, and I always get to pick the tracks.) But that would be too odd, I thought, for her to be missing the music and even more odd for a dog to be trying to let me know that she missed it.

So. I tested my theory. I went to my room, got the speaker, turned it on, and started the music. When I sat back down, Snoopey nestled her head on my lap , stopped her Ruum sound, and fell asleep.

Skeptics might point to coincidence as the reason for Snoopey’s sudden silence. I choose to believe that, despite our language barrier, she asked me to bring in the music and asked politely. If she could have added a “please”, I am sure she would have.

What did I learn from this? More of a reminder than a new lesson. Ask and ask politely.

“Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you.” 

(Matthew 7:7 KJV)

 

Copyright 2016 H.J. Hill All Rights Reserved.

Doggy Study Hall

Posted on by H.J. Hill

Quality time is a term that people threw around a bunch when my kids were little. There are 24 hours in every day for everyone and they get filled without effort until the overflow fills up the next day and the next and the next. Soon weeks, months, years have passed and we don’t know what happened to them.

I got to see our dogs every day. I fed them, watered them, cleaned up after them, and talked to them, all of which is fine, but not really fun and not individual to each bulldog. So after a few months, I instituted Doggy Study Hall, a separate playtime for each dog. Yes, it takes time (about 30 minutes each) and it takes energy (mine mostly, as their internal generators seldom slow down).

I take each bulldog by herself down our quiet hallway. I light a scented candle high above their reach and sometimes I set up a speaker and play instrumental music. I sit down on a large beanbag chair that each bulldog has tried to claim with only limited success. A large cushion is available for their use, but what the human has is so much more appealing.

Doggy Study Hall rules are simple:

  1. No stepping, standing, or walking on the human. (Snoopey routinely violates this rule. She still thinks that she is a lap dog.)
  2. No invading any room into which you have not been invited.
  3. No intrusion into the front room at all. There is nothing in there for dogs and it is not a public doggy restroom (though Tiger and Wiggles have tried to turn it into one.)
  4. Dogs may choose their activities– soft toy play, fetch, chew toys, lounging, cuddling with the human, or napping.
  5. Stepping, standing, or walking on the human after 3 warnings may cause expulsion from Doggy Study Hall for that day.
  6. And no chewing, tearing, or eating of any books (even if they look delicious).

At first I thought the dogs had some fun there, relaxed some by being away from the others, and maybe learned to tolerate me a little more. No big deal. As time went on, the excitement level revealed that they had come to expect it. They would run, prance, and dance at the hall door at that time of day. Each one had a favorite activity. Snoopey loved to cuddle and nap. Wiggles loved to play with a big, blue, rubbery chew stick. Tiger cuddled and lay on the cushion, fiddling with the soft toys every so often. Stella loved to be petted and massaged behind her shoulders.

I forget how much special time set aside means to my friends, to my family, and to the LORD. It is actually harder to set up quality time with the people in my life than it is to spend time with the Lord of the Universe. He is always awake. He is almighty. His invitation always stands.

“And in the morning, rising up a great while before day, he went out, and departed into a solitary place, and there prayed.”  (Mark 1:35 KJV) If Jesus knew the importance of time apart with the Father, how much more should I realize the importance of quality time with Him?

 

©2016 H.J. Hill All Rights Reserved.

 

Do I Look Foolish?

Posted on by H.J. Hill

Stella doesn’t really need to wear a hat to look nice. Truth be told, she did not choose her hat. I found it among some old doll clothing that my daughters left behind when they grew up. I just had to try it on Stella. She humored me and let it stay on her head for, oh, about thirty seconds. A bulldog in a purple church lady hat with flowers and a veil, no less. She even knew better than that. So much for foolishness.

Foolishness. We try to steer clear of it whether in ourselves or others. Not the kind of foolishness that makes us smile or laugh, but the kind that ends up hurting us and others. Once introduced into a group of people, foolishness spreads like a virus. It invades conversations and opinions and the only vaccination against it is a good shot of wisdom. If foolishness is allowed to flourish, like a virus, it will pop up in a totally unexpected place.

People must really enjoy foolishness. We do so love to spread it. Just take a gander at social media.

The Bible teaches us not to be fools, but God can and does use foolish things. (I am glad He does, otherwise, I wouldn’t get much use at all.) “…the foolishness of God is wiser than men…” (1 Corinthians 1:25 KJV) When I account myself wise, knowledgeable, on top of things, and self-sufficient, WATCH OUT! He comes with something foolish to show me just how unwise, ignorant, unsuccessful, and lacking I am without Him. And that is good news. He doesn’t leave me stuck in my own mud pit, believing my own nonsense.

He introduced me to bulldogs – silly, foolish, barrel-bodied bulldogs. A few of the things that they have shown me are:

  1. I can physically handle 50-60 pound dogs with the temperaments and pulling power of tiny bulldozers,
  2. Not everything important has to have a paycheck attached to it,
  3. Sometimes you have to spend a little money and that is not a bad thing if it improves your own life or the life of another, and
  4. Laughter is free.

Not foolish at all.

 

©2016  H.J. Hill  All Rights Reserved.

Are You Related to Me? Really?

Posted on by H.J. Hill

Hello, I am Stella, the Olde English Bulldogge. I am back. Apparently, when I do not blog, my transcriptionist, the Lady Human, does, so you get her point of view and that may not be entirely accurate. I am not saying that she or any human lies, but they see things differently than dogs do and, if I had to choose between a human and a dog, I would trust a dog. Well, not all dogs. Not Tiger. And probably not Snoopey most days. Okay, let me just say that between a human and a dog, I would trust me.

Allow me to explain my frustration. First, here is my current list of offenders, from most serious to least:

  1. TIGER – yes, still. TIGER! TIGER! Please grow up! I don’t remember acting like you are when I was your age. You may be a teenager, but could you speed it up a little? She is still constantly challenging Snoopey for supremacy. Snoopey’s new tactic is to ignore her, well, about half the time. Lady Human is now bribing Tiger with a treat when she comes in from outside so that she will calm down and not try to fight Snoopey. It’s a good ploy and may be working. Treats are good anytime and I do not object on principal to using them as a bribe. Anything to get a treat. I just don’t want Tiger thinking that she deserves them.
  1. SNOOPEY – She still reacts to Tiger, only a little less now. And she got a new bed that she did not deserve at all. Why? At least mine is prettier.
  1. WIGGLES – She is calm and friendly as usual. But she has become obstinate all of a sudden and will not go right into her crate when the humans have to leave to go to their mysterious places. So she has to be coaxed in and once again Lady Human bribes her with a treat which she in no way merits. (Lady Human gives the rest of us treats at the same time, but that’s beside the point.)
  1. ME – Yes, I am the least offensive this time, least offensive to me anyway. Lady Human seemed annoyed when I was telling Tiger off. I was just trying to help. Maybe I did go on a little too long. And loud. The humans do not yet understand my dialect so they probably didn’t understand that I was lecturing Tiger on good behavior. The humans need to work on their language skills.

I expect more from my family members. Snoopey is my sister. Wiggles is my half-sister. Tiger is my niece. Have you ever heard of humans having trouble with their family members? I think not. What? Wait, my transcriptionist is saying something. Oh…well, that is something to think about.

Signed,

Stella the Queen of the Bulldogges

 

Copyright 2016 H.J. Hill  All Rights Reserved.

Don’t Stir the Boiling Pot

Posted on by H.J. Hill

Hot words start fights. To confirm that, check out Proverbs 15:1: “A soft answer turneth away wrath: but grievous words stir up anger.”  (King James Version) That applies to dogs, too.

Tiger snorted her displeasure at having to wait for her focused attention session with me. She started snorting because Stella was free. Her envy against Stella knew no bounds until her envy of Snoopey and dominance competition with her kicked Stella aside. She has been snooting against both of them.

Tiger was in her crate with her food and water because she won’t behave around the other bulldogs. She manipulates Stella by barking and snorting and silly, peaceable Stella runs around like mad trying to figure out what to do. Stella flopped down in front of me, upside down with her tongue lolling out to the side. Stella is a lover, not a fighter, well, not a good fighter anyway.

Snoopey, not to be left out of any disagreement, voiced her complaint with her whining bulldog vocabulary, working her petulant lower lip up and down beneath the flopping umbrella of her expansive cheeks. Silent Stella only barks and vocalizes once in a blue moon. Is there another one of those coming up soon? Sweet, amenable Wiggles sat and watched. She seldom offers an opinion. When she does, it is at full volume and she gets the last word.

Tiger always snoots her impatience before the loud, incessant barking starts. It is amazing to me that she can blow that much air through her nose without blowing snot all over everybody. I am told that the bloody battle that almost claimed her life started as a fight over food. I don’t know. Tiger does love her food, but food or not, the fight was over territory. The other dog protected her ground and Tiger protected hers. Tiger lost.

Pretty soon after the barking begins, everyone (by everyone, I mean every non-human one) adds their own bulldog version of two cents. It is a conversation, but not a polite one.

I have avoided a great many useless fights over the years by learning (the hard way) when to speak and when to keep my mouth shut. The other thing I have learned is not to spew angry, spiteful words in reaction to someone else’s venom. Those two lessons have saved me a lot of grief and a lot of late apologies that never would have set things to right anyway.

Now if we can just get the dogs to learn even part of that lesson.

“Whoso keepeth his mouth and his tongue keepeth his soul from troubles.” Proverbs 21:23 KJV

 

©2016 H.J. Hill All Rights Reserved

 

 

 

Dog Ruminations (or Chewing Things Over)

Posted on by H.J. Hill

The Miscellanea of Living with Dogs

Dogs are not ruminants, that is they do not ruminate because they do not have a rumen in their stomachs. Without a rumen, their food (the plant kind) does not  ferment and then regurgitate into their mouths for further processing the way a cow’s  or a goat’s does , for example. The word “ruminate” comes from the Latin word ruminare meaning “to chew over again”.

The meaning of rumination for humans is quite different, though we would do better to chew our food more thoroughly the first time. I have been ruminating about the way dogs think – or don’t think. When I watch them, I get a sense that there is something going on inside their heads at least once in a while.

For instance, I think that dogs don’t really care about birthdays. They just want the food and the excitement. Any day will do. I’ve pretty much adopted that attitude myself over the years. That doesn’t mean we can’t celebrate them. Any excuse for a party. That’s what most dogs would say.

I do think that dogs wonder at times how we humans move through the world. At least that is the look they have on their faces. “How do they do it? They seem to know where they are going.”  If only they realized how wrong they are and how clueless we are. No, better for them not to know.

What are dogs thinking about when they stare into space and nothing else is going on? Are they daydreaming? Or are they trying to figure out what that weird thing is that is sitting on the piano?

How do dogs measure productivity? Just by doing what they are asked to do? When they save someone, do they respond, “I have simply done my duty.” Probably. That is the attitude we are to have as well.

“…when ye shall have done all those things which are commanded you, say, We are unprofitable servants: we have done that which was our duty to do.”  Luke 17:10 KJV

I hear the news, public or personal, and I stare into a puppy’s tiny eyes, and realize that they will never understand any of what is going on and I am happy for them. Their world is focused on us and on one moment at a time. And on food and toys and games, of course.

When I am tense, they sense my tension. I wish I were strong enough not to share it with them or anyone else. So. I play calming dog music, recorded at the right decibel and rhythm to calm dogs. It may be working. I feel a little calmer already.

 

©2016 H.J. Hill All Rights Reserved

Heart Enlargement

Posted on by H.J. Hill

How large is my heart? Not the blood pump in my chest but the essence of me. For quite a while my life has been played out on a very small stage and that has been pointed out to me by my reactions to the arrival of the bulldogs. I had no room within me to accept even one of them when Stella came. I looked at her and judged her too big, too smelly, too ugly. I knew nothing about bulldogs or their personalities, their affectionate nature, their silliness, their gift for making me laugh. And sigh. She was too big for my small heart.

No one wants to think of themselves as too small. We are not tight-fisted or stingy. No, we are thrifty, frugal, practical, and good stewards. We are not hard hearted. We are reserved, stoic, perhaps dispassionate, but that can be good, right? We use all manner of euphemisms for ourselves and speak the truth only about others.

What if God looked on us the way we look at others? What if He valued us only as much as we value those around us? (Uh-oh. That’s a scary thought.) Thankfully, He is kinder than that. I needed to enlarge my capacity to love and I believe He is using these dogs for a reason – there is nothing they can do for me in this big, cold, practical world. They can’t buy me a car or give me a job or make my breakfast or clip my toenails. They can only be what they are – dogs. I take care of them and they can’t pay me back. Not with money or services or stuff anyway. No quid pro quo. They give only what they can.

Bit by bit, dog by dog, my heart has been expanding.

In Luke 14:12-14, Jesus said that we should specifically invite people to our banquets who cannot repay us. There is no loss to us in that bargain.

How much room do I have in my heart for all these dogs or anyone or anything else? I asked that question before the birth of my second child. How large is my heart? Do I have room to accept one more? A neighbor told me the truth. God enlarges your heart.

“…for the LORD seeth not as man seeth, for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the LORD looketh on the heart.”  1 Samuel 16:7 KJV

 

©2016 H.J. Hill All Rights Reserved

 

Don’t Get in Your Own Way

Posted on by H.J. Hill

Dogs interfere with their own progress on a regular basis. When I go to let Wiggles out of her crate, she routinely puts her paw on the door and holds it in place, not meaning to, just trying to help. She doesn’t realize that she is thwarting her own desire by getting too involved.

When I stand back and the crate door is unlatched, she stares at me as though I am keeping her in. All she has to do is let go of the door and it glides open.

Another routine block to progress is when I try to open a regular door and find bulldogs congregating around my ankles like cement blocks on four legs. The door won’t open. My legs can’t move except vertically. The dogs stare, wondering why the line for the bathroom is so long when the delay is caused by their own eager barrel bodies pressing against the door.

Unwittingly, they blockade themselves from the very object of their desires, and then they look at me with pitiful eyes that ask, “Why are you against us?” When they do budge enough for the door to be wedged open, they tumble through it like a cluster of clowns spilling out of a clown car at the circus.

When to take a step, when to make a move, when to speak, when to stay silent – we face these decisions every day. We rush forward when we should wait. We put our hands and mouths into situations that were never our business. We try too hard and throw stumbling blocks in our own paths.

Fear of losing out drives us to desperation. Overwhelming desire urges us to press and grab for what we think we absolutely must have right now.

In the Bible, James 4:2-3 speaks about our “lusts” (more modern word “desires”) and the problems we cause ourselves by pursuing them the wrong way. “Ye lust, and have not: ye kill and desire to have, and cannot obtain: ye fight and war, yet ye have not because ye ask not. Ye ask, and receive not, because ye ask amiss, that ye may consume it upon your lusts.”

 Dogs’ desires are pretty obvious: food, water, shelter, exercise, affection, structure, safety, all basics. Human desires extend beyond the basics and our abilities to pursue our desires exceed what dogs can do for themselves. And that’s where we can get tripped up. There is a whole lot that we can pursue for ourselves flat out. We just have to be careful what the object of our pursuit is and that we don’t fall over our own feet.

 

©2016 H.J. Hill All Rights Reserved

That First Step

Posted on by H.J. Hill

I placed a new bed pad that I had made into Snoopey’s crate. I am not an expert seamstress or dog bed designer so it puffs up high on the ends. I thought she might like that for an extra head rest and she does when she sleeps. The only problem shows up when it’s time to come out of the crate. I open the door and she hesitates, lifting one paw high, tapping the air with it, unsure that she can make that first step.

Eventually she does. She steps over the threshold and onto the old familiar solid floor. There was really no choice. Outside the crate is freedom and fresh air. And the bathroom. Going back into the crate doesn’t hold the same challenge for her though. Same crate, same pad, same puffy end, different attitude. Maybe it’s just easier to overcome obstacles when you want to go to bed.

That first step out is the crucial one. Without it, nothing else follows. She doubted her footing because the situation was new and she had to step a little bit higher than she was used to doing. Once she summoned the courage and took that step, the whole world opened up.

First steps can scare you. What if I take this step and fall flat on my face? Won’t that be embarrassing? Won’t that hurt? What if I get a bloody nose?

What if we sit in a crate all of our lives? What if we let that first step stymie us into never trying at all? We may have to pick our feet up higher and deliberately plant our steps on the ground outside our safe zone. By and large, the ground will be solid enough to support us.

And what if we do fall flat on our faces and bloody our noses? Wash it off and get an ice pack. Then take another step.

“For Thou hast delivered my soul from death: wilt not Thou deliver my feet from falling, that I may walk before God in the light of the living.   Psalm 56:13 KJV

 

 

©2016 H.J. Hill All Rights Reserved

Stella’s Blog – Day 1 – I Am #3

Posted on by H.J. Hill

Hello. My name is Stella, the Olde English Bulldogge. Remember me? Perhaps not since I am no longer the center of all attention as I was, as I should be. This is now a true dog ranch. All of us are inside MY house. ALL OF US! How did this happen?

 Misbehavior is rampant. In order of greatest offender to least offensive:

  1. Wiggles: Offense: will not stop barking while saying nothing. She has a bad habit of       repeating herself. Just listen:  “Awwohh? RahRah!  Awoooo? RahRah!”

           RahRah? Twice. What does that even mean? It sounds a little like something I say once                in a while, but if that’s what she means, she is pronouncing it all wrong.

            I like Wiggles. We get along, but there is only so much nonsense you can listen to. Some               days I just want to bark my head off, but I don’t. It’s called self-control. Get some,                         Wiggles!

        2.  Tiger: Offense: still trying to fight all the time. Our humans have to keep her away                        from the rest of us. Good thing. There is a lock on her crate now because she is smart                    and she figured out how to open the door. (But did she have the courtesy to teach me                    the same trick? Nooo!). Make no mistake. I felt sorry for her when she showed up. She                  looked terrible and now she doesn’t trust dogs. I am glad she is all better, but getting                    out of her safe place was how she got into all that trouble to begin with. Also she is a                    teenager. That explains a lot. Lesson to be learned: Don’t jump over fences that are for                your safety and go stomping on somebody else’s ground. And eat your own food.

        3. See below.

        4. Snoopey: Offense: right at this moment, nothing. She is trying to nap and has turned                    away from us to avoid temptation. But she has trust issues, too. She is my sister. I have                her back, but she struts around all sassy like she is the Alpha and that gets on my                            nerves. She may grow up one day and realize that real leaders lead; they don’t show off.

Yes, I know how to count. I did not forget #3. I am #3. Offense: None. I am the Queen and the Queen cannot commit an offense. Why am I not #4 then? Humility, pure and simple.

  “Humble yourselves therefore under the mighty hand of God, that He may exalt you in due time: casting all your care upon Him; for He careth for you. “(1 Peter 5:6-7 KJV)

P.S. The human put that last part in. I can’t read.

Signed, Stella

 

Copyright 2016 H.J. Hill All Rights Reserved.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Saving Tiger – Part 4

Posted on by H.J. Hill

“She looks great!”

The whole veterinary staff grinned when they saw Tiger walk in a week later. Tiger was one of those success stories that remind people not to give up. She favored her leg and wouldn’t put her whole weight on it. The worst wound was still draining a little from a small rift in it, but not at all as horrible as it had been.

The vet was delighted. “Keep doing what you’re doing. She has good range of motion in that leg, but just expect that she will walk with a limp, probably for the rest of her life.”

Expectations are funny old things. They are patched together from what we’ve experienced in the past, what we’ve seen others experience, what we’ve planned, and hope. A glimmer of hope, people say, as though hope is a weak candle flame about to go out. Sometimes hope flares up and spits right in the face of the past. We stretch our faith to hope for a difference and God meets us more than halfway.

Tiger had other issues. The skin on her back was enflamed and broken out and no one could confirm the reason. Not mange, not mites, or maybe it was. The test results said no, but test results could be wrong. Allergies? That would be bulldoggy of her. The skin problems had begun when she was with her previous owner before the attack and she was in a new environment, still with no improvement despite special shampoos and a changed diet. But the leg was still the biggest question.

One night my son brought his shop vacuum inside to work on it. When he turned it on, the screaming whir bolted Tiger to her feet, all four of them. Not one to waste an opportunity, he opened Tiger’s crate and Tiger followed him through the back door, wobbly on the weak leg but moving.

Her leg fought against the whole weight of her body pressing on it. It wasn’t ready to do the job yet. She looked at me with her curled lip exposing one fang of her bulldog underbite as if to ask why didn’t we smart humans know that. After a slow walk around the yard, it looked looser though. Okay, maybe stepping on it wasn’t so bad an idea after all. Maybe the humans were not as dumb as they seemed.

Tiger lived. Tiger healed. Tiger walks and runs and jumps…without any limp.

Hope and faith can be a dangerous combination. You may just get what you are hoping for.

“And hope maketh not ashamed; because the love of God is shed abroad in our hearts by the Holy Ghost which is given unto us.” Romans 5:5

 

Copyright 2016 H.J. Hill All Rights Reserved

Saving Tiger – Part 3

Posted on by H.J. Hill

“I can’t even give her 50/50.” The vet’s lead-weighted words dragged on the air in the room. No false hope. I appreciated that. It’s good to know what level you are fighting on. We drove home with Tiger for a long weekend.

My son poured himself into research on the internet. Surely someone else had battled this and won. He had bonded deeply with Tiger during those days and nights of doctoring. When I would be long in bed, he was still up, face to face with her pain and her fight against the enemy organisms that were eating at her body.

“These people say raw honey helped. I have some. I’ll add that and keep up with the hydrotherapy. After all, why not? What is there to lose?”

“Yeah, why not?” I said. “Why give up now?” We had a miracle going. Were we going to give up so easily? It was going to take persistence and patience.  Those require time and time is something we hate to spend, but nothing good comes without it.

He used a strong stream of water from the hose directly on the open wound, then pour raw honey into the hole, and bandage the leg. Three times a day. We saw the pain it caused her, but Tiger never bit us or snapped at us. She kicked a little, but she knew we were trying to help her. Her trust in us flowed from her eyes. Now she wore a Cone of Shame. I think that bothered her more than the treatments, but it kept her from licking the leg and making it worse.

I prayed for her. “She’s already a miracle, Lord.” I talked to Tiger over and over. “You are strong, girl. You are a fighter. We won’t quit. Don’t you quit.” She might not understand my words themselves, but I made my voice carry hope. Dogs understand your tone. But we needed more than hope. We needed a change. And we needed it by Monday.

Nothing changed Friday or Saturday. She still had a fever. She couldn’t put any weight on the leg with the gaping wound.

“Does it look better to you?” my son asked.

“About the same. But not worse.” We put so much pressure on how things look.

 

After church on Sunday, I ran into my friend, Meg.“Do you pray for animals?”

“Yes!”

“Well, we have one that you can pray for. Tomorrow is D-Day.”

And we prayed, standing outside the church building in the open air and we believed that God heard us on Tiger’s behalf, on behalf of His animal, His creation. We asked for a new miracle. Everything is a miracle anyway. I have never created one thing, not the smallest grain of sand, not the tiniest speck of dust. We asked for a miracle – for a dog. Why not?

Sunday afternoon, the change came.

My son called me over when he removed the bandage. “The wound is closing. The hole is much smaller than it was.” It was. The change was dramatic.

When the vet saw it on Monday, her smile returned and she said the only thing she could. “Wow!”

To Be Continued

 

Copyright H.J. Hill 2016 All Rights Reserved

Saving Tiger – Part 2

Posted on by H.J. Hill

Tiger knew the dog that attacked her. They had each escaped from the safety of their separate kennels while their owner was not at home. If Tiger had stayed in her place, she would have been okay, maybe. The attacker was aggressive. Tiger should have been mindful of that. But then so should I have been mindful in my own life. Watchful, alert, awake around aggressive humans.

We were Tiger’s guardians now. My son took her in out of a strong heart and the merest breath of a hope.

“50/50, huh,” I told her, sitting by her side and feeding her again with the syringe. “Let’s up those odds on our side, girl.” 50/50 just didn’t sound right. I laid my hand on her head and prayed for God’s mercy to His creature. And to us. Hope reflects light and light shows things for what they really are. I needed hope and so did the dog.

The next evening she stood up for the first time since the attack, on three legs, not four, but she was up. Then she pooped. I was never so happy to see a dog poop in my life. She chewed on the end of the plastic feeding syringe so we offered her food and water in bowls and she lifted her head readily for each and ate. My son put the medications in soft dog food that he mashed into attractive meatballs in his hand. Tiger devoured them.

My job ended at noon on Monday. I told them it was my last day. I decided not to fade away.

That afternoon, to everyone’s amazement, Tiger walked with us into the vet’s office on her own. The doctor smiled. From being carried in my son’s arms and out on a towel stretcher one day to walking, albeit slowly and gingerly a few days later, was a miracle. We all need miracles at least once in a while. The 50/50 chance was erased from our minds. “I’ll see her again on Friday,” the vet said.

When I got up Wednesday morning and walked by Tiger’s crate, bright red goop was on the floor. Tiger’s worst leg wound had opened up and a deep tissue infection had burst out. It was a danger the vet had worried about, but we had hoped Tiger was beyond it when she responded so quickly those first few days.

When the vet saw her, she no longer smiled. The wound was deep enough that a man could put his fist in it. Amputation was no longer an option, if it ever had been. This breed doesn’t always handle it well and the hidden infection had likely spread further up in the leg. Hydrotherapy, another antibiotic that works against anaerobic bacteria, and that was it. The vet said that she had seen dog’s legs literally dissolve from this. If Tiger lasted the weekend, Monday we would have a decision to make.

To Be Continued

 

Copyright H.J. Hill 2016 All Rights Reserved

 

Saving Tiger – Part 1

Posted on by H.J. Hill

Some stories require more words. Tiger’s story is that kind.

The week had started out for me as the best of times or the worst, depending on your interpretation of the same events. My job was ending, something I had desired since I had started there five years before. Still the news arrived suddenly, an abrupt announcement, no fanfare.

“You are burnt out.”

So this is what burn out looks like. He should know. He set the fire. He told me to go part-time and then “fade away”. I must be an old soldier. According to General Douglas MacArthur, isn’t that what they do?

To be honest, I was no longer where I was supposed to be. The time to leave had fully come. I have always chased a paycheck and not even a good paycheck. I was afraid to let God use me. I was afraid of what His use would look like. Anyone in this society can say, “She had to go to work.” There is immediate understanding, immediate acceptance. Everyone is on board with that. And some really important things get shoved aside, shunted aside, because everyone understands. Money, right? What else is there to do? If someone says, “She had to chase a dream,” embarrassed silence lets you hear all the crickets chirping in the background.

The day after the “fade away” announcement, I went part-time. An hour before I was to leave for the day, my son called me.

A friend of his had an Olde English Bulldogge that had been attacked and mauled badly by another dog of his. The friend could not care for the bulldog. He didn’t have the time or the money and it was going to take both. And the dog might die anyway. He would give my son the dog if he would take her on. My son went and picked her up. She was prostrate, muddy, her legs gouged by multiple bites. The other dog had shaken her; worrying is what they call it, when an animal grips and shakes a victim. That’s where we get the word. That’s what worry does to us – grabs us, shakes us, rips us.

Would I be willing, my son asked, to pick up some puppy replacement milk on the way home. He had cleaned her up, but he had to get to work. Sure, I said. When I got home, she was on her side, breathing and little else. We mixed the puppy milk and he ran on to his job. Then I sat beside her and pushed the milk and water into her mouth with a long-nosed plastic syringe. She drank it, gratefully, I think.

A few hours before, I had been sitting in a clean, well-lit office, hoping for a future I could not see, and that afternoon, I was sitting on the floor, feeding a mangled dog that I had never seen before. It was the best day I could remember for quite a while. So this is what it looked like to be used by God.

The vet gave us 50/50 for her chances of survival and even that was hopeful. She gave us pain meds and antibiotics. She would see us again Monday if…well, if there were still a reason. On the way home from the vet’s office, the dog lifted her head from the car seat. It took a lot out of her to do that, but I think she wanted us to know that she was trying, fighting. If we would, she would.

My son had seen the dog at his friend’s house when she was younger. She was a fine dog, he said, beautiful and active. A jumper with powerful, springing legs. I had a hard time imagining it and I can imagine quite a bit.  A lemon brindle, she had just turned a year old the week before the attack. Her stripes gave her the appearance of a tiger. It hurt him to see her that way. “He called her a name that means ‘Fat Girl’, but if she had been mine, I would have called her ‘Tiger’.”

“She’s yours now,” I told him. “Call her ‘Tiger’.” Apart from the stripes on her coat, she was no tiger at all. Head on paws, paws tucked in, all drawn up as tight as she could make her long body, and back legs oozing and draining, blood and more mud and fluids. Tiger. Better than Fat Girl. Hopeful. Strong. Tiger.

To Be Continued

 

 Copyright H.J. Hill 2016 All Rights Reserved

 

Dog-Tired

Posted on by H.J. Hill

Why dog-tired? Why not horse-tired, mule-tired, or pig-tired? Why do people say their “dogs are barking” when their feet hurt from standing or walking too long? Why not “my cats are meowing” or “my horses are neighing”?

Actually, “dog-tired” derives from an ancient custom of Alfred the Great. He would send his sons out after his hunting hounds and whichever of them retrieved more of the dogs earned the privilege of sitting at their father’s right hand at dinner that evening as a reward.  (Wiktionary  at en.m.wiktionary.org/wiki/dog-tired)

Kings did love their hunting dog packs, but gathering cats would have been a more intense contest.

Day after day, when I got home from my last job, I was dog-tired and not from chasing dogs. I would rather have been doing that. My dog-tired condition made me reluctant even to visit with our dogs. I was weighed down. I lacked the energy to handle their bulldogginess so I would sneak back to my room, change into casual, comfortable, out of the public eye clothes, and fall asleep at 4:30 in the afternoon. I didn’t have the heart to tell the dogs that I was ditching them for a dark, quiet room and a soft bed.

I forgot that I was one of the highlights of their day and I would get stared down the next morning by pissed off, disappointed bulldogs. (Bless their hearts.) Where have you been? What audacity you have to go to bed early. We are the only ones who get to do that!

I had forgotten something else. I was carrying weight in my heart and mind that was not for me to carry. Rest was elusive. Dog-tired had become a way of life.  And the whole time there was a God-given solution.

Jesus said, “Come unto Me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you, and learn of Me, for I am meek and lowly in heart, and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For My yoke is easy, and My burden is light.” Matthew 11:28-30 KJV

 

©H.J. Hill 2016 All Rights Reserved

 

Mine, Mine, Mine, Mine, Mine

Posted on by H.J. Hill

Bulldogs claim things. Bulldogs claim people. They do this in various ways, but most often by placing their front paws, either one or both, on the person they are claiming. They make a demand, insisting on continued attention, more attention. Don’t get up. Don’t walk away. Those dishes can wait. Everything else can wait. I am here. You are mine.

 It sounds a little like a sweet Valentine’s Day card. It’s encouraging. They love me so much that they pound me heavily with their straight, stout legs. When they keep hitting me, they bruise my legs and arms.

These dogs were not trained as puppies to keep their paws off people. That was a human failure. Since they are bulldogs, their legs are spring-loaded, perpetual motion machines.

Here is our typical conversation:

(Insane barking for no reason at all.)

“Calm down!”

(All barking ceases while they stare at the nutty woman standing in the middle of the room.)

Snoopey walks up and paws at my feet, leaving a highlighted mark on my bare foot.

I give her a touch. “No!”

Paw springs up.

“No!”

Paw springs up.

“No!”

Other paw springs up.

“No!”

First paw springs up again.

And so on and so on and so forth. “No” has become the most ubiquitous word in our household.

I can’t let them think that I am doing anything just because they are demanding it. Then all they will have to do is throw a fit to get their way, sort of like young children.  I am in charge (whether or not I really want to be).

I start on one of my guilt trips – if I were a better guardian, a better steward of these animals, I wouldn’t be having these bad behaviors. But God reminds me that His humans have not consistently obeyed Him either, AND HE IS GOD. And He reminds me of something else.

If it hurts another, it’s not love. If it’s selfish, it’s not love.

“Love worketh no ill to his neighbor: therefore love is the fulfilling of the law.”  Roman 13:10 KJV

 

Copyright H.J. Hill 2016 All Rights Reserved

Thou Shalt Not Covet Thy Neighbor’s Car Ride

Posted on by H.J. Hill

We went to the fair when it came to town and we stayed too long. (Wasn’t there a song about that a long time ago?)

Our dogs were not allowed to go. That was even-handed. No one’s pets were allowed to go. I understand. With all the strollers and pull wagons full of kids and backpacks and coolers, a tangle of leashes (not to mention bathroom issues) would turn the Midway into a nightmare journey and it wasn’t even Halloween.

I remembered them though. I played a game and won two cheap, squishy stuffed animals that they would love to wrap up in their huge, squishy mouths. Stuffed animals and live cats. They consider both to be in the same category. Soft, furry, and lovable in that squeezable way. They just don’t get why the cat doesn’t find the game fun.

Being left behind that day taxed Stella’s self-control because Snoopey had gotten to go in the car earlier in the day and a car ride is a car ride. When the leash came out and it was not for her, Stella gave me what-for in bulldog speak. The squeaks and groans went on unabated for three to four minutes, quite a run for a dog who is not used to stringing together more than a grunt and a lip ruffle. Lectured by a dog. Maybe I should respond with grunts and whines and lip ruffles of my own. What Stella didn’t know was Snoopey was not going for a joy ride. It was medical in nature and not something that either of them would have asked for.

So how many times have I coveted my neighbor’s car ride, to the fair, or on a trip, or anywhere, and had absolutely no idea where they were going, how long it would be, how hard it was, or how necessary for them? How many times have I looked at what someone else received and craved it without having any inkling of what it cost them, without going to the Lord about it to see if it was even desirable or appropriate for me?

Telling us not to covet whatever it is that our neighbor has is not God’s way of keeping us from the good stuff. It is His protection and His way of drawing us to ask Him for what we desire. He understands that what our neighbor has may not be right for us and may not even be  what we think we want at all.

“Thou shalt not covet…any thing that is thy neighbor’s.” Exodus 20:17 KJV

 

©H.J. Hill 2016 All Rights Reserved

Don’t Miss Out

Posted on by H.J. Hill

Stella needed (correction: still needs) leash training, if such a thing is possible with a bulldog. We make progress and we fall back, we make progress and…we erase the whole mess and start over again. The alternative to training would be for me to become the cart behind Stella’s horse and get dragged everywhere. That joke wore thin a long time ago. Of course, Stella still loves it.

Walking Stella became a chore rather than a pleasure and I started cutting back on the effort. We were both missing out because we both wanted to be in charge of the leash. So I became intentional about my goal. I started slow and steady. What I forgot was that Stella was intentional, too, only not in my direction.

I managed to keep her powerful 50 lbs. from jerking me off the porch steps. Yay! We walked (or rather she pulled and I held on for dear life) slowly down the sidewalk to the street. I kept her within about a foot of me. Yay! She seemed to be catching on to the idea that she was to walk beside me.

Yay! The leash slackened. We turned around and walked like a normal, sane human being…and a bulldog back up the sidewalk, up the four porch steps to the front door.

“That was great, Stella! Now let’s do it again.”

Stella faced the door, laid her barrel body down,  placed her head flat on top of her front paws and said, “Nope.”

“Be ye not as the horse, or as the mule, which have no understanding: whose mouth must be held in with bit and bridle, lest they come near unto thee.”
Psalm 32:9 KJV

Copyright H.J. Hill 2016 All Rights Reserved

Seeing Things As They Are

Posted on by H.J. Hill

Dogs don’t see things as we do. Their eyes are not as complex. They lack our range of color perception. Researchers say that dogs only perceive yellow, blue, and gray. Yellow? Okay, so that’s why our dogs attack that yellow chicken soft toy and grab it first, given the chance. All those pinks and reds and greens are for the shopping humans. We buy what we find cute and attractive. I sort of knew that already when I was picking out gingerbread men, snowmen, and Christmas trees with faces. Our dogs are genuinely happy shaking an old towel. Bottom line, if it’s not yellow or blue, the dogs see gray.

(If you want to imagine what the world looks like to them, check out dog-vision.com. Those kind folks have several charts that explain the way a dog sees things.)

I love color. I am richer because of it. I am grateful to be able to perceive the full color spectrum as well as sharp distinctions in shadings. Poor Stella has jumped out of her skin at black and white photos on television, images of buildings or crowds of people from the 19th Century. I wonder what she was seeing. All those people and structures appeared totally innocuous to me. As for the color yellow, Homer Simpson totally freaks her out.

Still, we humans have our own vision problems. We put mental twists on what we see. Or we don’t pay enough attention and only catch part of the picture. At times we add to what we see as our brains and imaginations run ahead of us and embellish reality. We see things that aren’t there and often misinterpret what is there. Dogs may not understand everything before their eyes, but they don’t make up stuff.

For all our glasses and contacts and binoculars and microscopes, our clarity is not all that clear. Inside or out; physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually. We need help.

My prayer for me, for you, for all of us: “that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of glory, may give unto you the spirit of wisdom and revelation in the knowledge of Him; the eyes of your understanding being enlightened; that ye may know what is the hope of His calling…”                   Ephesians 1:17-18 KJV

 

©H.J. Hill 2016 All Rights Reserved