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Almost ten years ago, on my birthday, my sons and I were having dinner when a neighbor came to our door with a white-golden puff of a puppy.  The boys said we ought to take him, since it was my birthday.  So we took him. 

I don't remember a whole lot about those times, what with working and having a kindergartener and two teenagers.  Not to mention we already had a dog, True, or Truedini, the escape artist.  (Another story for another time.)  We went around in circles with his name:  Boy1 wanted Brody, Boy3 wanted Murphy, and I wanted Indiana.  The puppy was always doing some silly thing or another; and one time, I said "You turkey."  And the name stuck but changed a little to Turk because it was kind of cool. He was my dog after all. 

Turk was part Golden retriever and German shepherd, or so our neighbor thought.  He looked Golden mostly. 

He wasn't too difficult to train, but True wasn't housetrained and was neurotic about being left in the house, so the dogs stayed outside.  I didn't want messes in the house.  Then Boy1 got his own little dog, Brody, who is with me now.  So we had three until True died a few years ago.

Turk wasn't a very bright dog.  He never even learned to urinate as most male dogs.  He liked to chew on fabric (which may have been what ultimately hurt him.)  He preferred to stay in the yard.  Every once in awhile, he'd get out but he was pretty good about obeying me.  There were times though when he decided he didn't need to go outside and would refuse to do so.  One of the few situations that I would get frustrated with him. 

He was afraid of sudden loud noises, the lawn mower, and leaf blower.  And brooms.  I don't know why.

He had a little stuffed animal that someone gave him when he was a puppy.  Up until a few years ago, he would carry it around--this big dog with a stuffed animal!  I took it to him when he was in the hospital, hoping the familiarity of it would comfort him in that strange place...

He was sweet and loving and patient.

 

He didn't like water much, unlike his partner-in-crime who'd stand over the sprinkler to get drenched in the spray.  True didn't like it either and wouldn't come close for anything.  But if I was watering, Turk would come quietly to my side and stay next to me, positioning his Golden head under my free hand.  Unafraid that I would turn the water on him, trusting that I wouldn't.  There were times when I needed to wash him off or cool him down, but this was done gently and he never ran off, submitting to the water.

The whole day would go by when the only contact I had with my dogs was to feed them.

And he waited... for me.

---

I had noticed for a few months that he was slowing down, not hearing well; for the past month, I let the dogs stay in the house at night so I could keep an eye on him mainly.  They loved being with us.  I'm glad now that I did that.

When I got home from work one afternoon, my fear was realized when I found him in the backyard, conscious but unable to get up.  His head was up and his tail wagged when he saw me.   He would move, probably by crawling, when I wasn't around.  We carried him into the kitchen on a makeshift gurney; there we cried over him and loved on him.  Brody snuggled up to him and  Boy3 slept on the kitchen floor that night.  My sister took him to the vet hospital the next morning while I was at work.  I went by myself after work to be with him, then picked up Boy3 and went back.  We stayed with him for an hour or so there at the vet hospital. 

His dark-golden eyes that I always wondered at watched us as we left the last time we saw him.   He died near dawn on October 15. 

And when he died, so quickly, though I had had a feeling for a few months all was not well with him, I could only think of how I failed him.  My sister comforted me, saying that Turk loved what I did for him.

Today, we picked up his ashes.  I know it may sound strange; Boy3 wanted to bury him here, but he was a big dog.  This way seemed better.

---

I, frankly, didn't really think much about animals being in Heaven.  But knowing my Jesus, through Whom all things were created, I'm encouraged that they will be there.  And He Who knows and cares when even the little sparrow falls all alone, knows and cares about my Golden-boy.

My Golden-boy points me to Jesus; with his patient waiting, he showed me how my Lord waits, loving us, watching us... 

With his trust, even when he was fearful, he taught me to trust in our Maker when fearful things are around.

(I waited to write this, thinking time would make it easier, but it's not...)

 

the truth
we want to know

they are keeping the truth from us
why won't they tell us the truth?
the truth about others, oh, we want to hear
and conspiracies abound--
half truths, whole truths, nothing-but...
but the truth about ourselves we cannot bear;
this is not the truth we crave!

bound in deception's shackles:
where we belong--
truth be told--
we would hide from Him, in our caves
gnashing our teeth, fleeing the light
that would set us free

But When The Truth Walks In,
all our silly truths pale in His light,
and shrivel until they are dust