by Becky Loyd
went out last night, just after midnight, to make sure all the heat
lamps were working in the goat, chicken, and turkey houses. The
temperature was supposed to go to zero or below. All the dogs had long
gone to bed and the night was silent. Stepping on the porch I was
greeted with the sight of a crystal clear sky and multitudes of stars.
Turning on the flashlight (we refuse to have one of those blasted dusk
to dawn monstrosities that keep the stars from shining) I made my way to
the barn. Earlier in the evening I had taken some straw to freshen the
farm animal's bedding, and had dropped a flake outside the gate that I
failed to retrieve.
Walking down the drive, I saw a set of bloody paw prints pressed into
the snow that came out of the woods and ended at the pile of straw by
the gate. Curled on the pile of straw was a dog. Medium sized. Could
have been any kind of dog. It was hard to tell in the darkness. The only
thing for sure was that it was a dark color. I put my hand on the back
and felt cold ribs. I took my gloves off and felt behind the front leg.
A heart beat. Then I heard a faint thump. The end of the tail was going
up and down making a slight impression in the snow, but the head didn't
move. I saw the deep brown eyes that seemed to say, "Please don't run me
off. I can't take another step."
The feet were cracked and bleeding. I checked to make sure the heat
lamps were working and gently scooped up the frozen dog. No resistance,
just the thump of the tail. Not much weight for the size of the bundle.
I made my way to the front door.
Coming inside I laid the dog down inside the door. It never moved.
Checking to make sure everyone was still asleep, I began the search for
a blanket. I was pretty sure we had used the last dog blanket for our
latest rescue. Nothing in the closet, nothing in the dryer, nothing on
the couch. I went to the bedroom and retrieved the one off the bed. Even
it was old and beginning to fray around the edges, but it was the last
one available. I folded it and set it by the heat register closest to
the furnace. Then I picked up the dog and laid it down on top.
After midnight, on New Year's Eve, in a very rural area of Southwest
Missouri? No way I could get a Vet to see this one tonight. We would
have to try tomorrow. I went to the kitchen and took a container of
chicken broth out of the fridge and popped in the microwave. I went back
to the living room and set the bowl down next to the blanket, within
easy reach of the cold nose. Another thump of the tail, was the only
movement. I reached down and put my hand under the chin, gently lifting
the head. Now inside I could see that the dog was black, at least on the
parts that had not turned grey. Almost the entire face showed the white
signs of time past, and the pupils surrounded by those dark brown eyes
were blue. The ears were that of a Lab and so was the tail which thumped
every time I came near. The body was skin and bone. There were no front
teeth. The canines were worn or broken down to nubs, and I was able to
see three teeth in the back. I didn't want to pry to see if the old dog
was a male or female. It really didn't matter anyway. I told the old dog
I was going to go to bed and patted it's head which was met by another
thump of the tail.
On my way to the bedroom, I wondered how in the world the dog had
gotten to our farm. It came through the woods which were large and
uninhabited. I also wondered why here. The answer was simple. The hand
of God had brought the old dog to the right place.
It's morning now and I've been up for a few hours. The bowl of broth
was empty and the blanket was much as I had left it. No bloody paw
prints on the carpet, only on the old blanket. Sometime after I went to
bed, the old dog lapped up the chicken broth and licked the bowl clean.
The blanket had been fluffed a little and the old dog had curled into a
tight ball with the nose tucked inside the tail. When I bent down to say
good morning, there was no thump of the tail. I knew then that the old
dog had crossed the Rainbow Bridge in the night. Kneeling there in front
of the old dog, I thanked God for the one old blanket I had left and for
the hand that gently guided the old dog to Rainbow Farms. It was then
that I thought of the poem that Walt had written for us:
"Listen to the kindness, spoken softly,
Often lost behind the tears.
Place your hand upon my shoulder,
Let it take away my fears."
May the New Year bring you closer to the hand of God, and all the old
blankets you may need.
Becky Loyd, Rescue Coordinator,
The Rainbow Farms
Project, Inc.: "A Special Place for Special Animals"