One of my mom's legacies will surly be her ability to love the unlovable. Maybe that's a trait that all mothers posses, based on the saying "a face only a mother could love", but with my mom it's to the infinite degree, especially when it comes to babies and dogs.
Working next to her at the daycare center, I noticed she had a gravitational pull toward the babies that were most "difficult"... the ones with Colic, or sour-smelling from frequent spitting up-- quirky babies with annoying tendencies to whine, cry a lot, or be way too needy, underfoot, or clingy. The average person would get frustrated, annoyed, and find it very trying on their patience to give quality care. My mom embraced these babies, searched to find their true happy selves hidden beneath their challenging exterior. She would coax, nurture, and somehow pull the beauty outward and make each child their mother's version of the best.
And then there is the continuing story of my mother and her dogs.
If there was any dog that carried the "unlovable" label, it would have to be Harley. The first time I met Harley was in a small duplex rented by Harley's first owners, who my mother worked for as an in-home childcare provider. She let him up from a dark urine-and-dog-poop smelling basement, and as he tore wildly around the room, knocking over plants with his tail and making a figure 8 trail around the living room (launching himself across the top of the couch to complete each loop), my mother explained what a nice dog he was once he settled down after his initial "greeting period" for a new house guest. The only thing I saw of Harley at first sight was a streak of orange. Once he "calmed down", which equated to my mom desperately clamping onto his collar and holding on with her entire weight to keep him from taking off again, all I saw a wild, out-of-control, panting maniac of a golden retriever with excessive drool and house-training issues. He blazed a trail of mud, chewed furniture, and scratch marks in his wake. When put in a kennel, he would climb the fence trying to escape. His owners, at a loss as to how to try and train him, came to the sad conclusion that their only choice was to surrender him to a shelter.
Harley was the dog only my mother could love.
Fast forward a few years, and Harley was now my mom's beloved adopted 4-legged loyal friend. Neurotic and skiddish, still with a propensity to run away, Harley was found by most to be very hyper, annoying, somewhat stinky, and to be honest, quite a nuisance. I can still remember being 8 months pregnant, taking care of him at our house, trying to pull him to the outside chain to tie him up when he slipped away. In the .23 seconds it took me to see all I was holding was a collar, Harley was an orange blur in the distance. It was all I could take to contain my rage, clap my hands happily and call "Come on Harley, TREATS!", and lure him back to the house where I threw food into the open basement door, slamming it behind him once he trotted in with that typical dopey grin on his face as if to say "Hey! Isn't life great?".
I was late for a doctor appointment, the only time in 5 pregnancies that my blood pressure measured "high".
But Mom was hooked on Harley.
She swore he was "so nice and so gentle", such a good dog if you looked past his quirks, like his fear of thunder storms. He wasn't just deathly afraid, he was jump-through-a-glass-window afraid. Yes, he did that too... screen and all.
Once, around Christmas time, he ran away from home. His curious nose must have gotten the best of him and took him far away, the falling snow covering up his tracks and his way back home. I'm not sure how many days he was gone, but after many phone calls, a newspaper add, and lost dog announcement on the radio, Mom was beginning to give up hope. My sister showed up for Christmas eve dinner, having flown in from Switzerland to surprise my parents. My mom's happiness of seeing her daughter helped ease the pain of losing the dog that all of us had to admit was growing on us. Later that evening came the glorious phone call that Harley had been found, he had bounded happily into the yard of a young boy and his family, over-joyed to be welcomed with food and water. My daughter called Harley's return "A Christmas Miracle", and the tears of joy my mom shed are telling of the genuine love and appreciation she had of her dog. (We even joked Harley's homecoming was more festive than my sister's surprise visit.) Mom was beaming with a smile that could light up the whole world.
Time went by, Harley grew older. He lovingly welcomed more grandchildren to climb on him, to throw him a ball, to accept his "gifts" of stuffed toys and various things that told them he loved them. He had infinite patience and NEVER growled or lost his temper with an eager child who might tug at his collar or his ear. He had a special spot in his heart for pizza crust, and would rest his head on your knee, begging to be fed just one more morsel. He still freaked about storms, he still jumped at his own shadow, but he was a good old dog and faithfully shadowed my mom, making sure she felt loved, safe, and needed. When he curled up on his bed each night, he would exhale a sigh that said "Night has come and all is well", and the world was better because he was in it.
Harley's life ended yesterday in less-than-dramatic fashion. He was 11, had lived a good life, and his time had come to leave this world. When my mom shared the news, I wasn't surprised, based on his steadily declining health and old age. But what surprised me was the tear that trickled down my cheek when I learned Harley was gone. I know part of my sadness was for my mom, but I have to admit, in a lot of ways I was mourning the loss of a good old dog, our one-of-a-kind eternally loyal, kind, lovable, protective Harley.
We'll miss you, old boy.
Mom, you did it again.
No comments:
Post a Comment