by Kim Meeder
All during our run, Laurie had been guiding Mia with voice commands that barely punctuated our conversation. Laurie achieves this weaving of dialogue and instruction with such intrinsic skill I had all but forgotten that she does it for one reason: Mia is almost completely blind.
It wasn’t until Mia bolted in the opposite direction that Laurie finally stopped and backtracked, calling out to her wayward friend. Unsure of how to help, I watched as Mia crashed through the frozen brush. She clambered over logs and tripped in a dense tangle of underbrush. Finally, overwhelmed by an icy prison she couldn’t see, Mia stopped. A tinge of concern crept into my heart as Mia began to move again, turning in tight circles. She swung her head back and forth in an effort to locate her master. Laurie waded into the wintry snarl and broke through to where Mia was trapped. With gentle hands, Laurie turned her blind dog back in the direction of the correct path, and together they started out again.
I could hear Laurie’s low voice guiding her courageous dog. “Easy, easy … step up, that’s it. Here … here. Good girl.” In unison they crunched up the trail toward me.
Laurie and I often run together, but I still admired their interaction as they trotted up to rejoin Sevi and me. Laurie resumed our run and conversation as if nothing more than a comma had passed between us since our last words.
Mia fell in right behind us, following the sound of our feet drumming over the frozen layer of earth and snow. I doubted that any onlooker would have been able to detect that Mia is blind. By tucking in at Laurie’s heels, Mia relaxed behind a shield of protection she could sense but not see.
As long as Mia stayed close enough to hear Laurie’s muted commands—and obeyed them—she was able to navigate an unknown world. Yet the moment Mia stopped listening to her master and chose instead to wander, everything changed. Once Mia was separated from Laurie, her world quickly compressed into a dangerous and lonely place.
The moment Mia stopped listening to her master and chose instead to wander, everything changed.
Mia was following the sound of her master’s footsteps. Her previous experiences had taught her that this was a sound she could trust. A sound that kept her safe.
I smiled at Laurie and pointed a gloved thumb over my shoulder at her dog. My words were measured out between breaths. “What faith … to follow a master … you cannot see.”
When Laurie arrived at the ranch, one of my first impressions of her was that she was tall—taller than me. Barefoot, I stand at five feet nine inches; in work boots I’m closer to six feet. Although I admire and respect many of my female peers, it isn’t that common for me to literally look up at them. Nonetheless, before me stood a young woman of athletic stature crowned by sandy hair. Her sapphire eyes were framed by long, dusky lashes that neither needed nor were adorned with mascara. I would later come to know what lay beneath her exterior—a heart full of struggle, compassion, and sensitivity.
Laurie’s summer season as a volunteer at Crystal Peaks ended with a new beginning. She was hired on as a permanent part of our family, our staff. Like everyone else, she wrestled with her intrinsic weaknesses, but she also had kindness, tenacity, and a great capacity to try. One year linked arms with another, each drawing our lives together more closely than the last. The tall, lovely girl that had breezed up my hill had also walked into my heart and turned into a friend.
Part of my job, and my joy, is spending one-on-one time with my staff members on the ranch. My intention for these meetings, while varying in its delivery, is to provide individual encouragement, challenge, and mentoring. Even though I’m thought to be the leader, I’m usually the one who emerges from those times of transparency feeling as if I’ve been mentored.
One of those transparent moments occurred when Laurie and I hiked around “the block.” The block is an old dirt road that meanders in a lazy four-mile loop around our ranch. Rather than sitting in an office chair, I much prefer my real place of work, the great outdoors. Often it is while striding around in this fresh setting that lives are changed—including mine.
Laurie and I were heavily bundled, our knit caps pulled down low. Random snowflakes wandered down from the low gray sky. I waited for Laurie to lead the conversation, and she didn’t disappoint.
“Well, you already know about the dog I rescued a while back. For the last few months I’ve been giving you updates of what Mia and I are learning together. But I’ve never had the chance to really tell you how it all started and why this little dog means so much to me.”
Her last words were wrapped in emotion.
Many voiceless steps trailed out in the velvety snow behind us. Laurie’s silence spoke to me of her determination to contain her emotions. Finally, my friend’s fragile resolve dissipated like the frozen breath that drifted over her shoulder. I heard a sob and turned to look at her.
Tears had gathered on her lower lashes and shimmered momentarily before sliding down her cheeks. I reached over and placed a gloved hand between Laurie’s shoulders to bridge the small distance between us and peered into her glistening eyes. A single bare finger emerged from layers of long sleeves and gently pressed beneath her nose.
She took a deep breath. “When I rescued my dog, she was a discarded, homely mutt. I will never forget my first thought when I saw her: She’s a wretched creature … just like me.”
Next, my friend poured out the story of how she had become the unlikely owner of a most unlikely dog.
No one could have foreseen then the significance of that day, least of all Laurie.
Her dog’s rescue occurred on a blistering afternoon in late August. The day was devoid of the cooling breath that routinely moves across the High Desert. Scorching air hung still and silent, as if creation itself had given up hope and stopped breathing altogether. Even by Central Oregon standards, it was hot, miserably hot. The combination of searing heat and roadside sage produced an aroma so pungent that it could almost be tasted.
The stifling heat didn’t deter Laurie. She was on her way, determined to prove to those around her that she was as kind and generous as anyone else who worked at the ranch. On this special day, she was going to rescue an unwanted dog.
She’s a wretched creature … just like me.
The week before, Laurie had learned through our ranch office of a rescue situation with a horse and several dogs in need of new homes. This information was familiar to a rescue facility, but somehow this situation seemed different to Laurie in a way she couldn’t define. Her residence wasn’t conducive to rescuing a horse, but she could welcome a dog in need. Laurie wasn’t able to shake off her persistent desire to help, and like her ranch co-workers, she decided to extend herself to a dog trapped in hardship.
One hopeful thought led to another. This could be the very thing that would lift her aching soul and carry her toward the shore of lasting contentment. Perpetually stalked by low self-esteem, Laurie clung with fresh hope to this adoption. She anticipated how this noble deed would help her feel better about herself. All she wanted was a hideaway, a reprieve from the relentless guilt of past poor decisions that continued to splinter her soul. Maybe this new horizon of selflessness would finally bring relief. Laurie’s emotions soared with each thought, and she chose to soar with them.
Only days before, she learned the dog that was soon to be hers was an Australian shepherd mix about nine years of age. Laurie imagined a beautiful tricolored Aussie with piercing blue eyes. Further indulging her daydream, the new owner pictured this cool dog as her new sidekick, joining her in every hike, jog, and horseback ride. Her knowledge that Aussies are energetic, intelligent, and social only added to the framework upon which Laurie was building her dream.
Laurie’s expectations multiplied as she traveled the twisting road to where the dog awaited. She envisioned walking with her silky-coated dog through the trendy downtown streets of Bend, Oregon. Dogs and their owners are so welcome in this hip scene that many merchants provide watering bowls outdoors and dispense dog biscuits indoors. Laurie pictured
herself with her stylish dog at her side and smiled in advance approval, knowing the two of them would fit right in.
With her hopes as high as the afternoon’s temperature, Laurie turned her car into the dilapidated yard that matched the given address. In an instant she knew why the call regarding the animals residing here had come to the ranch. The family lived in an old mobile home that was in the obvious process of returning to the crumbling earth beneath it. Everything appeared to be dead: the trees, the grass, and all the scattered, rusting cars.
A lone horse stood motionless near the sagging barbed wire fence that encircled it. Laurie breathed a heavy sigh and reminded herself that the underweight gelding would be moved later in the day to the new adoptive home found for him by the ranch. Goats and chickens, dogs and children, dotted the ramshackle landscape. Laurie’s heart ached for them all.
Laurie made her way up wobbly wooden stairs and knocked lightly on the door, triggering a barrage of barking from within. The door opened a few inches, and a stocky woman peeked out. After brief introductions, the owner ducked back inside and then returned, leading the dog Laurie had promised to adopt. Laurie’s earlier excitement fell like a blazing meteor.
This dog doesn’t look anything like the dog I had imagined!
The dog was almost completely white with a brown patch over each eye and a single brown spot on her rump. Her coat was a dull, tangled mess. Despite the intense heat, the Aussie’s underbelly, from chin to tail, was shrouded with a three-inch swath of stinking guard hair. The dog was so thin she looked to be half her normal body weight.
Laurie’s heart recoiled.
What? You’ve got to be kidding me! This isn’t the dog for me. She’s not nice looking at all! There has to be some mistake; this can’t be my dog! Why did I say yes to a dog I’d never seen? What was I thinking?
Why did I say yes to a dog I’d never seen?
Suddenly Laurie felt too ashamed of her shallow motives to admit out loud that, based solely on how the dog looked, she didn’t want to take her. Yet if she declined to take the dog after seeing her, everyone would know that her loving compassion was only a facade; she would be exposed as a fake. Laurie rubbed her hand across her mouth in an attempt to hide her deepening disappointment. She stifled a moan of frustration, all the while hating herself in the awkward moments of silence.
When the dog saw Laurie appraising her, she lowered her head and began to wag the entire back half of her body in a plea to be accepted. Laurie heard a strained “Hi, baby” drift off her lips as she knelt down to greet the wiggling dog. The canine’s breath greeted her first—it was horrible! She fought to keep from reeling backward. The owner stood nearby and watched. While the dog licked her entire face, Laurie struggled to control her gag reflex, and her expression matched that of a woman being slapped repeatedly in the head with a giant putrid slug. Laurie pulled away just in time to see the dog’s rotten teeth smiling at her.
This just keeps getting better and better, she thought, jerking her nose away from the stench that puffed from the dog’s mouth. Standing back up, Laurie could do little more than stare at this homely dog with the ugly coat, bad breath, and nasty teeth.
Attacked by a dual ambush, Laurie fought to suppress the negative emotions inside her heart and the negative thoughts inside her head.
Get a grip! Even though this isn’t the dog I pictured—the dog I wanted—I want even more to do the right thing This dog cannot stay here; she won’t survive. I can take her home and help her stabilize by regaining the weight she has lost. If I must, I can find a suitable home for her then. I simply cannot leave her here—not now, not after seeing her plight. Today—right now—she needs my help. And I’m not leaving without her!
Laurie squared her shoulders and looked over at the owner. “I’ll take her.”
Her “yes” to the dog was also a “yes” to herself. She purposed to fulfill her promise and become a woman of her word. Within moments, Laurie retreated over the worn road that had led her to the tumble-down homestead. But she wasn’t alone on the return trip—a smelly, scraggly dog was now by her side.
Laurie smiled as she recalled the first encounter with her dog that scorching summer day. We were still enjoying our walk, and the sparse flakes that had fluttered down around us earlier must have summoned their friends. The snow began falling in earnest. All sight and sound drew inward around us in a muffled veil of unspoiled silence. Laurie’s eyelashes provided the perfect resting place for a few playful snowflakes.
“Look at this!” I held my palms skyward. Every flake that landed on my black knit gloves was a crystalline masterpiece. “Check out this one. Oh, look at this tiny baby on my finger!” The falling artistry offered a welcome respite, allowing Laurie to catch her breath.
Using her nickname, I asked my friend the obvious question. “So, tell me, Lou, you said earlier that your new dog was a wretched creature like you. What did you mean by that?”
Laurie took a deep breath and exhaled a groaning, wordless response that I recognized as the universal sound of “You don’t want to know!”
“That good, huh?” My stifled laugh invited her to share more. “It’s my dog,” she said. “I could hide from everyone—but her.” Laurie’s blue eyes were pensive.
“Explain.” With a single word, I pushed the door open for Laurie to release what was straining inside her heart.
In a voice I almost couldn’t hear, more to herself, she said, “I didn’t expect this—any of this.”
On the long drive home, with her new dog settled on the seat next to her, Laurie looked through the windshield with a blank stare. She didn’t feel elated or satisfied. She didn’t even feel like a good person. Instead, she felt confused and numb, sad and empty.
The dog, although underweight and weak, had resisted getting into Laurie’s car. Several times she tried to turn around and run back to the trailer. Frantic, she clawed through the sandy earth as she fought to leverage herself against being placed into an unknown vehicle. Lying on the seat, she panted in nervous gasps. Every time Laurie reached over to console her, the fearful dog squirmed away from her hand.
This dog doesn’t even want to be touched.
Her large and wild eyes darted in every direction, as she tried to find a way of escape.
The stress of leaving the only home she’s ever known must be triggering her anxiety. A new thought occurred to Laurie. I wonder if she thinks she is going to die now.
Laurie looked at the terrified dog, whose only response was trembling submission; the canine dared not look back. At that moment, something inside Laurie changed. Drop by drop, like melting ice, compassion for the frightened dog began to flow.
Wow, this dog has struggled for a long time. She has fought hard and survived so much. I don’t really know how yet, but I can provide her with another chance. I know I can give this dog a new start, another try at this life. I can do that. I know I can do that.
As Laurie drove, juniper and sage rushed by in a swirl of monotone green. Their blended fragrance saturated the sultry heat. Laurie glanced over at the dog and sighed. She knew there was only one reason she had decided to rescue this homely, starving, foul-breathed creature.
I wish I could say I am keeping this broken girl because I instantly fell in love with her. Perhaps, in time, that will come. I made the decision to bring her home because she needs my help. She’s so thin and neglected. I couldn’t leave her there. I couldn’t look the other way and convince myself that she would be okay. I couldn’t walk away … and do nothing.
She rubbed the back of her hand across her forehead and tried to untangle her thoughts from her emotions.
Drop by drop, like melting ice, compassion for the frightened dog began to flow.
Laurie despised the fact that she chronically lived in a place that was dictated by her feelings. She resolved to move beyond her emotion, beyond the teetertotter of what she felt versus what was true. The truth was simple: this dog needed her help, she could give it, and
she chose to. Emotional quicksand had enslaved Laurie for too long. Now she wanted to base her decision on what was needed, not on what she needed to feel.
To confirm her decision, Laurie repeated her conclusion: I’m helping this dog because it’s simply the right thing to do.
Ever since she was a little girl, Laurie had carried a heart full of vast and vivid dreams. She always had a clear picture of the person she wanted to be and what she wanted to do. She hoped her life would stand for something greater than herself. With the untarnished innocence of a child, she adopted her generation’s aspirations to be happy, beautiful, and prosperous, to raise a family and change her world. Laurie loved children and teaching and hoped to combine those two elements in her future. What she wanted to do for humanity would matter. It would make a difference. She would make a difference.
What she wanted to do for humanity would matter. It would make a difference. She would make a difference.
With those ideals firmly established, Laurie never could’ve imagined that twenty years later she would be so far from the aspirations of her youth. Her heart had become the source of a turbulent, unceasing churn of doubt. She was beset with feelings of uncertainty and constant questioning of how her life could have strayed so far off track.
From an outsider’s viewpoint, Laurie had it all. Raised in a loving home, she worked a respectable job, maintained an active social life, and attended church on Sundays. In contrast, her view from inside proclaimed the truth: she was profoundly lonely. Inside the bare walls of her life, beyond the scrutiny of all others, a young woman wandered alone, lost in a desert of isolation.