I’ve taken lately to spending some mornings upstairs in my local McDonald’s. It’s warmer up there, away from the constantly opening automatic door, and it’s a lot quieter, too. Most of the time I have the room to myself while I drink a coffee and read a book.
Yesterday morning, however, a woman came upstairs, placed her tray down before her on the table and took a seat. As she opened the sachet of milk to pour into her tea, something tore a sob from her. At that very moment she became aware of me, and held up a hand that quite clearly said I’m alright as I am, leave me be.
The gesture allowed no approach, so I simply nodded. She continued with her morning meal, her mind evidently focused on some inner conflict. I continued to read for a while, then finished a final chapter and rose to leave. As I put on my jacket I looked out of the nearby window, down onto my town outside, and saw a child-a young girl, with presumably her mother. Suddenly the girl snatched her hand away from the adult and hurried towards a man with a dog, ignoring the calls to come back.
The dog was one of those Staffordshire bull type dogs, nothing remarkable in that, but one of its front legs was missing. It gave a shuffle-hop as it moved, and the girl, obviously moved by the sight, crouched down and gave it a hug, wrapping her arms around it and holding it close to her chest. The man was speaking, perhaps telling the girl’s mother that the dog was friendly. The dog stood there, rapidly wagging its tail.
When I turned I saw that the woman who had been weeping was also watching this encounter, a thin smile upon her face. On making eye contact with me she quickly turned her attention back to her breakfast. Perhaps that girl’s act had moved her, gave her fresh insight and perspective. Who knows?
I left but kept thinking of that scenario: the woman and then the girl, the weeping and then the embrace.
We are all in the same boat here. Some are broken; some are ready to help others put the pieces back together again. But I think it has to be by consent-we have to be invited in.
I had a conversation once with a local priest.
“I thought there’d be more vegetarians within the church,” I’d said. Apart from myself, I knew of only one other.
“Well, I think that, both morally and spiritually, the strong have a responsibility towards the weak. Be they people or animals. Also, if, as we are told, that we are called to lead a life of compassion, then I don’t know how we can if we are eating the flesh of slaughtered animals.”
I’m no activist. And it is not my place to moralise, and far be it for me to preach to a clergyman! It was just a thought I’d had. He replied that maybe it was a deeper kind of faith that I practised.
But I was thinking beyond religious faith, more as a rule of thumb as we go about life. Of course faith should inform all areas of your life, not something you pick up again when you go through the church doors on a Sunday to set back down again on the way out.
We can attempt to live a compassionate life, but we can’t go around forcing compassion upon others. That woman was quite clear about what she needed and wanted at that time.
And I think she may have got some of it unexpectedly, from watching that little girl and the three-legged dog from a window in the local McDonald’s.
A year ago today we lost our family dog, how fast it has gone. When I posted this last year it seems I inadvertently upset people: mothers on the school run was asking me not to post anything else about him, I got a message from a girl on holiday in Spain: ‘I’m in tears, my mum’s in tears, the waitress serving us has two Labradors and she’s in tears!’ It wasn’t my intention then or now, I’m just remembering our old friend.
Dog lovers: why do we do it? I mean really, why do we fucking put ourselves through it?
We know, when we let them into our homes and incorporate them into our family dynamics, exactly what their lifespan is. We know that they don’t live as long as we do, and that there is going to be an emotional payback for all of the years of unconditional love and non-judgemental companionship that they offer us. But it is only when you reach that devastating moment of reckoning when you ask the question: is it all worth it?
I’m a Doctor Who fan. How many times have I heard it said, courtesy of the script writers, that the Doctor doesn’t stay with his companions because the hurt of watching them age and die, while he goes on, is too much. Having watched the programme since the 80’s, you think I’d have…
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Rebel by name and rebel by nature.
Have a great weekend everybody. Don’t get arrested.
See you on the flip side.
Me: “Do you hear that, James? They’ve said that there is a thunderstorm coming. It’s nothing to be scared of. Storms are cool. Rydal wouldn’t have been happy, though. He hated storms.”
James: “But he died. Luckily for him.”
In the midst of their grief at losing our family dog, Rydal, my kids have been demonstrating just how therapeutic doing something creative can be. Perhaps, on reflection, my previous post served the same function for me?
My eight year old daughter, Millie, made this colourful tribute:
And, with her brother, James, set up this little shrine beside her bed, using Rydal’s dog chews:
They have come up with the idea of releasing balloons, carrying away their thanks and goodbyes, as they put their dog’s ashes in the garden. And so, this we will do, and then they will move on, carrying with them, wherever life takes them, their memories and laughter and tears.
The night after Rydal died, Millie said the following prayer, which was both sad and a little mature:
“Dear Rydal, I didn’t want to let you go, but the next time I see you will be when I’m at the Rainbow Bridge. I’m sorry if my memories fade.”
We won’t allow that to happen. We will document, and remember, and share. Bringing out into the light that which we cherish within.
City Jackdaw has been a bit heavy of late, I know, so I’ll post something a bit lighter next time, I promise. But to all of you fantastic people out there, who shared Rydal’s story, and took time out to leave such lovely and encouraging messages for my family, I am profoundly grateful.
There has been a lot of positivity coming our way, which has helped enormously. We have a fantastic community here, on the often maligned social media sites of WordPress and Facebook, which makes the risk of reaching out all worthwhile. For what we give out, we get back ten-fold.