Blind Hope: An Unwanted Dog & the Woman She Rescued

by Kim Meeder

  Laurie laid the back of her hand across her helmeted brow. “Drama, drama, drama! I was all about the drama.”

  I laughed again and urged my horse to slow a bit so we could remain side by side as we walked down the trail. “Well, girl, I’d say that you’ve enjoyed some fine company. There isn’t a woman alive who—if she’s honest with herself—hasn’t stepped out onto the drama stage from time to time.”

  Laurie was still laughing. “I know, but if they ever had a leader, I’m sure I would’ve been their exalted queen!” She extended her fingers above her helmet to form an impromptu crown and declared, “You know, ‘Hail to the queen!’”

  “Hail to the queen!” I echoed, raising my fist in the air. I immediately withdrew my salute. “No, wait! If I were playing the drama game, I wouldn’t salute you! I’d start to cry and say, ‘You hurt my feelings! I can’t worship Your Highness because I’m the queen!’ I’d rather go somewhere and be depressed and dive into a bucket of ice cream to soothe my bruised ego.”

  Laurie raised her index finger. “Make that a bucket of mint chocolate chip for me!” Cracking up over our fun exchange, we rode on into the fragrant juniper forest.

  “I wish being a drama queen were actually this fun, but it’s not. When I did that—the drama thing—I felt miserable inside. I chose to live my life at the complete mercy of my latest emotion. It took Mia to help me understand that whatever emotion I yielded to became my master. I had chosen to become a slave to how I felt.”

  Laurie reached down and gently rubbed Lightfoot’s smooth neck. “By allowing myself to be carried by every restless wave in the sea of my emotions, I always lived in a very unstable place. Nothing was ever my fault. Everything always ‘just happened’ to me. Therefore, I could play the role of a victim who had no responsibility to change.

  “Looking back, I can see how I talked myself into believing that I was helpless to control how I felt. As long as I kept choosing to base my happiness on temporary things—guess what? My happiness would be just as temporary. Sadly, mine was.”

  She fell silent. I wondered if the rhythm of Laurie’s horse beneath her was as comforting as my horse was to me. I couldn’t recall a moment in my life when being in the saddle on the back of a dear friend wasn’t time well spent. The reassuring cadence always persuaded my heart to relax, to release the hurt I held inside. To express my gratitude, I reached back and rubbed the top of my mare’s powerful rump.

  When Laurie spoke again, I could hear her voice strengthen with a new determination. “Unlike me, my dog has lost nearly everything—except her joy. There have been countless times when I’ve been so wrapped up in my dumb stuff, so anxious and upset over the difficult things that have come my way. Yet Mia has allowed no person, veterinarian, or circumstance to steal her joy. In the brief season I’ve known my girl, she’s persevered through more painful obstacles and suffering than I have yet to know in my lifetime.”

  Falling silent again, Laurie glanced out into the forest. Emotion tightened her voice as she recounted her dog’s losses, her pain.

  Mia had lived under a rusted-out car.

  She had been starved by her previous owners, which had caused her to lose over half her normal weight.

  Diabetes had devastated her body, threatening her life.

  She had put up with a vet who had extracted only half of a tooth, resulting in a painful, feverish infection.

  Mia had undergone more than a dozen veterinary procedures and surgeries.

  She had lost several of her teeth, her reproductive organs, an eye, and her sight.

  She had suffered the loss of her original home, her health, and her independence.

  Daily, she tolerates several insulin injections.

  Frequently she crashes into something, painfully splitting her lip or bloodying her nose.

  Your little blind dog really is a superhero.

  After Laurie had recited the list of Mia’s trials, her eyes met mine. “Mia didn’t choose for any of that to happen; it just did. The most amazing thing to me is, Mia’s happy! Through all her adversity, she remains joyful. Despite her hardships, she still wags her whole body at the simple thrill of hearing my voice.”

  “Wow, to consistently choose joy no matter what befalls us—that is actually something to aspire to. You were right. Your little blind dog really is a superhero.”

  Thumb pointing at her chest, Laurie said, “No matter what emotions surface, I’m the only one responsible for how I react to them. So as long as I keep choosing to be controlled by my feelings of anxiety, sadness, depression, anger, or bitterness, I don’t get to blame anyone but myself. Since I alone select how I feel, I can’t complain about something that I can choose to change every moment of every day!”

  I drew and pointed both of my hands toward her like pistols. “Yes, yes, yes! That’s it! Now there’s the truth!”

  “I know it’s the truth; I do know it. I just can’t help thinking about how dense I’ve been all these years. How sad and ridiculous that I blamed everything and everyone for my sorrows—except the one who was truly at fault. Me.”

  Laurie lengthened Lightfoot’s reins, urging him to keep pace with my taller, faster horse. I noticed her effort and eased Ele back a little so Laurie could finish her thought.

  “Mia has proved with her life that my current difficult circumstances aren’t nearly as important as what I decide to do with them. How I act in these challenging situations determines who I really am and what I really believe. When I view my life from that perspective, it’s far easier for me to focus on what I should do instead of on what I think I should have.

  “I can either focus on complaining about my hardships or I can decide to allow each challenge to help me grow up. I think it’s ironic that it took an animal, my little dog, to teach me how to behave, how to take responsibility for how I feel.

  Circumstances don’t dictate how I feel—I do.

  “Although it might take me a lifetime to put into practice, because of Mia, I now understand that circumstances don’t dictate how I feel—I do. I can always choose my attitude. I can always choose joy.”

  Our horses knew the direction we had just turned would lead them back to the grassy hill on the ranch, their favorite spot to graze. With a slope of green waiting, Ele and Lightfoot spontaneously picked up the pace. Swords of light sliced through the patchy clouds overhead, fending off the dissipating storm. Laurie turned her face toward the beams. “Wow, this place we get to live in, it’s really something extraordinary.

  “Hey, Mama K? You know what else is extraordinary? Mia lives her life in a way that proclaims the grass isn’t greener on the other side—it’s greener where you water it! It’s greener where contentment flows. She reminds us to stop wishing for what we don’t have and start caring for what we do! My little dog has taught me how much less energy it takes to rejoice in what I do have than to be resentful about what I don’t.

  “It’s funny how when we choose joy our problems don’t go away but our sorrow, loneliness, and low self-esteem do. I want to choose to look beyond my own troubles and, instead, choose to help others through theirs. I wish to experience daily joy like that. Between Mia’s example and what God has done in my life, I now know that I can.”

  I looked at Laurie. “I think it’s incredible that your dog, the same one who used to live under a rusty car, taught you all that.”

  With near blinding intensity, the sun burst through again. This time, the thinning clouds were powerless to stop the growing brightness of its glory. Imitating sunflowers, Laurie and I turned our faces up toward the sun’s brilliance. On this chilly day, we reveled in its warmth.

  When we choose joy, our problems don’t go away, but our sorrow, loneliness, and low self-esteem do.

  Laurie looked my way and tossed me a smile. “And it’s not just me; she’s teaching others too.”

  The first time I met Shelly, two things captured my attention. Her tall, slender build matched the hollow grief etched in her narrow
face. She was a woman who bore much sorrow, and her countenance gave evidence of that fact. Coupled with her obvious heartache was her determination—even desperation—to do whatever it took to help her children. If I knew nothing more about her, that was enough to gain my compassion and my wholehearted desire to assist her.

  Shelly came to the ranch for help, and like many other single mothers, she resembled a female Atlas, bending low under her crushing burdens. As if shouldering the weight of a master’s program wasn’t enough, she was also battling cancer and struggling through a vicious divorce. Because of the marital chaos, she was the sole provider for her twelve-year-old twins. Her arduous load spilled onto her son, Kent, who had tumbled into a black chasm of despondency. An equally ugly toll was being exacted on his sister, Anna, who was plagued by crippling shyness and low self-esteem. Exhausted, sick, and alone, the young mother reached out to the ranch for help.

  In return, Laurie reached back and offered to mentor Anna weekly. To help the willowy little girl gain confidence, the two of them worked to train a beautiful but dominant horse named Starbuck. In doing so, Anna needed to be gentle, consistent, and assertive. She had to set boundaries with Starbuck and enforce them. In a short amount of time, Anna came to deeply love the roan-buckskin gelding that challenged her to be strong. Slowly, she emerged from her dark place like a fawn stepping into a clearing for the first time.

  Although invited often by his mother and sister, Kent refused to have anything to do with the ranch. He didn’t want to interact with any of the horses or staff. Instead, he stayed in the backseat of the family car parked at the bottom of the hill. He sat and waited for hours, staring at nothing but his feet on the floorboards. Bound by an armor of reclusiveness, Kent remained alone.

  On a day when Anna’s mom drove into the ranch yard to pick her up, Laurie met Kent for the first time. She leaned down to look into the car and greeted him. “Hi, Kent. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

  He wouldn’t look up. He wouldn’t speak. He never gave any indication that he even saw her.

  Undeterred, Laurie said, “Hey, on Thursday afternoon we have a roundup. Everyone’s welcome. We play games so crazy, you wouldn’t believe it if I told you. It’s so fun! I’d love for you to come and join us.”

  His silence and aversion to all eye contact told Laurie not to push him. Respectfully, she didn’t.

  From that point on, every encounter Laurie had with Kent was the same: no eye contact, no verbal communication, and no breakthrough. No matter how many times she tried, Laurie couldn’t crack his shell of isolation. Nothing she did or said affected his withdrawn behavior.

  Winter had tightened its grip on the High Desert when the twins’ mother called Laurie to ask a favor. She needed to travel to Portland, a three-hour drive up and over the Cascade Divide, for a series of appointments and treatments for her cancer. Although the route is incredibly scenic during summer, in winter the road becomes treacherous, with violent storms. The combination of a dangerous drive and a daunting treatment compelled Shelly to ask for help. Her request was straightforward. “Will you take care of my children while I’m gone?”

  “Yes, of course!” Laurie welcomed the opportunity to spend more time with this overburdened family she’d grown to love. She hoped that prolonged time with the twins would be the mortar that would bond them. Perhaps this would be the opportunity for her to gain access to Kent’s heart.

  Laurie drove over to the twins’ home and received a few last-minute instructions from Shelly. After a quick hug goodbye, Laurie turned her full attention to the kids. Now that she was in Kent’s house, his avoidance morphed into a different but equally distant form. He sequestered himself upstairs in his room, spending time only in the company of his computer. Staunch in his decision to stay disconnected, he refused to eat dinner that night with Laurie and Anna. Instead, he crept downstairs later to get a snack.

  “Hey, Kent, can I help you with some dinner?” Laurie asked.

  No answer. With a cache of food tucked under his arm, he scuttled out of the kitchen as quickly as he had come.

  Kent stumbled across one obstacle in his avoidance maneuver: Mia lying on the stairs. Her chosen place to recline blocked his escape route. Each time he passed, Mia looked up in the direction of his face.

  For reasons known only to Kent, this simple action derailed his retreat to his room. Stopping, Kent looked down at Mia, perhaps staring at her blindness, her weakness. He knelt on the stair next to the sightless dog and studied her in the stillness. As if pulled by an unseen force, his hand moved toward her, and he gently stroked her back. Laurie watched from her vantage point and witnessed the unfolding of an answer to her prayer. Mia, without fanfare, began to dismantle Kent’s defensive armor.

  Mia, without fanfare, began to dismantle Kent’s defensive armor.

  Like a timid mouse stealing out of the darkness for crumbs, Kent made hushed sojourns down the stairs to find Mia. Each visit was the same. Kent soundlessly emerged from the shadows, knelt beside Mia to run his hand across the top of her head, and then disappeared back into the darkness.

  The full impact Mia had had on Kent’s heart wasn’t revealed until several weeks later. Shelly again asked Laurie to spend the afternoon with the twins while she worked to meet a thesis deadline. In an effort to get the kids out of the house, to move, to breathe fresh air, Laurie offered to take them to Tumalo Reservoir. Anna’s grin gave her answer, but Kent averted his eyes, as usual, and wouldn’t respond to her invitation.

  Laurie told him, “Mia’s waiting in the car. She’s coming with us.”

  Kent looked out the window, trying to see Mia. He disappeared for a moment and then reappeared, with the obvious addition of a jacket. He brushed passed Laurie without a glance and climbed into the backseat of her Olds Bravada, next to Mia.

  Once at the reservoir, Laurie instructed the kids to do silly things so she could photograph them and tape up the resulting pictures around their home in an attempt to cheer up their mom. Given permission to goof off, the twins jumped over sage, made silly faces, and performed wobbly cartwheels. Mia also joined in on the fun. In a version of canine tag, Mia would run ahead of the kids and then bound back to them. She would wiggle nose to tail and jump around them in crazy leaps and then run ahead again. Anna and Kent delighted in Mia’s playing with them. Every time she circled the twins with her antics, Anna couldn’t contain her laughter.

  Laurie was grateful that Kent seemed to be having fun even though he scarcely acknowledged her. Throughout the day, he remained determined not to look at her. It was clear that he was still uncomfortable with her and didn’t like it when she directed questions his way. Choosing not to force a friendship, Laurie allowed the day to simply unfold. She hoped all their comical behavior would shake Kent loose and help him relax in her presence.

  When the sun dipped low, the temperature followed. The kids raced back with Mia to Laurie’s car and dove into its relative shelter before the cold could follow them. Laurie could hear muffled commotion from the backseat. She glanced up in her rearview mirror and saw Kent guiding Mia to sit next to him. Laurie smiled; her dog could go where she could not. Brick by brick, Mia was building a foundation of trust in Kent’s heart.

  Laurie drove the kids home and took them inside. She listened with delight as Anna recounted their adventures to Shelly. Laurie was uncertain of the impact of the day on Kent until she said it was time for her to go.

  Kent’s strong response surprised Laurie. He suddenly turned toward her and cried, “No!”

  He ran past Laurie to Mia and quickly went down on his knees and hugged her with a tender squeeze. Looking only at Mia, he said, “I’m not ready for you to go yet.”

  Then he did it. With eyebrows pressed together—pleading—Kent turned and looked directly at Laurie. For the first time ever.

  Laurie couldn’t hold inside what brimmed over in her heart; she smiled at him. And then, almost imperceptibly, the corners of his mouth turned up in response. Kent sm
iled back. In that instant, a fragile bridge of trust spanned the distance between them. A bridge of trust … that Mia had built.

  “Kim, I had been trying for months, but Mia did it! My little blind dog was the one who saw the way into that boy’s closed heart. She opened the door of friendship between Kent and me. He’s a completely changed boy! When I take Mia over for a visit, the moment he sees her, his face lights up with joy. Then he drops to one knee and lets her lick his entire face! I’m not sure whether to rejoice with him or gag for him. It’s the sweetest, grossest thing!” She laughed at the mental image. “Yet Kent doesn’t seem to mind a bit.”

  Who would have thought a blind dog could reach into a boy’s prison and love him back to life?

  I shook my head in acknowledgment. “Sweet Mia. How remarkable that your lovable, blind, bad-breath dog could go where no one else was allowed.”

  Laurie nodded. “It’s incredible to me that Mia has unlocked Kent’s heart. He’s so much more alive with her than he’s ever been with me. Because of Mia, he’s a totally different kid now. Last week he came out to the ranch and loved it! His mom told me that he’s been begging her to bring him back.”

  Who would have thought a blind dog could reach into a boy’s prison and love him back to life?

  I slowed my horse and nudged her to sidestep over toward Lightfoot. I reached my hand out toward Laurie. She caught it and held on in a thoughtful moment. Releasing her hand, I looked at Laurie. “What a privilege it is to watch you become less of a receiver and more of a giver. I’m so deeply proud of you, Lou. In the few years I’ve known you, you’ve grown so much. You’re the one who’s the different kid now.”

  My heart was so full I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. I looked over at Laurie. “Want to make a great day even better?” By shifting my eyes between Lightfoot and Ele, I made my message clear.