When I opened my July – August copy of the UPPER ROOM- WHERE THE WORLD MEETS TO PRAY, and read the date, July 17, tears streamed down my cheeks. I felt a stab of pain and set my coffee cup down. Even though I wasn't sure I wanted to, I allowed myself to return to a few sentimental incidents I'd had with a couple of our bone chewing, bad-breathed, tail-wagging family members who have gone on before.
One early morning, four years ago when it was time for my walk with our dog, June Cleaver, I had a hard time waking her. I lifted my dog from the bed, hooked her to a leash and we began our short, early-morning stroll. She seemed to walk slower and to breathe a little deeper than usual. "Pick 'em up and put 'em down," I said, trying to believe that it was just the heat.
Later she had an accident in the house, something she'd never done before. She must have fallen into it and then couldn't get up. I sat down to help her and when I did, The Cleave heaved deep breaths as if she were pondering how to respond to me. She soon followed her old pattern, and comfort licked my hands. Then my dog looked at me with hope. When I first saw her, she had also looked at me with hope. Long years back, around 2004 or 05, the moment I laid eyes on her sitting beside Pat Hall in Lemuria Book Store, June Cleaver and I had bonded, she made it all the way to my heart. A few days later, Pat put the Cleave's leash into my hands, and I took her home with me. We had wonderful, long years together.
There had been so many signs those last few months, and now, on that day, four years ago, when I saw hope, faith, and a begging in her eyes, "Fix me," I felt my dog was distressingly sick. In my heart I knew, it could be time for my pet to say goodbye, to slip away to Doggie heaven.
"You've been a dear chapter in our lives," I said. "I don't want to close the book, but it may be time for a special visit to your doctor."
After she had been checked out, there was no question that she needed to lovingly be put to sleep. On her goodbye day, July 17, four years ago, in Dr. Jeanes office, on a table at the end of a narrow bed, I had set up a small boom box to play some of the old hymns that gave me comfort and hope. Holding her in his arms, an assistant entered and laid June at my feet. I saw trust in her eyes and sank to the floor beside her.
We had precious moments with each other.
Soon Dr. Jeanes and his assistant entered the room. They helped me to my feet, lifted June onto the bed, and then the doctor very gently slipped 'go to sleep' medication into her.
My arms encircling June, I held her close, trying not to move because we both seemed to be resigned to the moment. I could almost feel her paw on my arm, as if she were trying to hold onto me.
As I held June, one song that is especially dear to me, "Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing," played and brought back a remembrance. Because that first time the dog and I had laid eyes on each other, she saw her fount of every blessing. And she had brought streams of mercy to me and mine.
My head against my dog's, I had felt her warm breath on my face. My tears mixed with her sweaty fur. "I'm part of you now, forever," I whispered.
I had reached over and punched replay. Once again, the old hymn that played a melody in my heart when we first saw each other was with June in some of those final moments when she joined our beloved, my Willard. My voice told her what she meant to me and mine, as she slipped away.
And now, on this reminiscing day, July 17, 2022, I also went back in memory to years ago and Fondren Presbyterian Church, when it met in an old house on the corner of Lorenz and North State Street. Once a year the church would have a soul cleansing revival that would carry its washed in the blood members through a whole twelve months; when we sinners once again needed to be reamed out, spun around and faced in another direction.
In the traditional sense, toward the end of one of those summer revivals, I 'found religion,' and thought my soul was saved from then on, and henceforth and forevermore. But it was a short lived salvation. I fell from grace pretty fast. It was a hard fall, and went back to my dog, Rex.
Rex had been an abandoned dog that Daddy brought home to my brother Alvin and me from a downtown drugstore where he worked. We had Rex for several years, and that little fox terrier meant the world to me. He would walk with me every morning to catch the city bus to school. And how he sensed time, I never knew. But many afternoons he was waiting at the bus stop up on Council Circle for me when I came home from school.
Now, all these years later, for a few fleeting moments, I allowed myself a little time to reminisce about another deep, abiding hurt. I was twelve years old when some evil soul shot my dog; I didn't think I would live. I didn't want to and went into a deep, psychological decline. So much so, that when our doorbell rang about seven o'clock one night I was in my bed, with the covers over my head. My mother came to the bedroom door. "Lottie Elyne. The preacher's come to see you."
I didn't know it then, but of course my worried family had called him to come and talk to me. I had one burning question I wanted answered. "Is Rex in heaven?" If he wasn't, I didn't want to go.
Responding to my question with his belief, the minister said, "No." As a man of God, he was being honest and telling the truth as he saw it.
Remembering what he said, I draw in a painful breath. There's no perfect answer to many of life's tough questions, but so much was taken away with his reply. To this day, I still wish he had given me a little hope.
My thoughts are broken when I hear barking outside. Reality has spoken.
My lovely, lady, June Cleaver, you left me---I miss you every day, but I take comfort in the hope I now have that our canine companions are not separated from us for eternity. My dear husband Willard and my girls,Tootie, Pat, Brent and Lindsay Lee are with you, and my little dog Rex. And someday you'll all run to greet me, June Cleaver.
Pushing forward in the recliner I return to the here and now.
It's time to feed the Roo Roo and the Petey Poo their breakfast.
