Tuesday, September 22, 2009

For the Love of a Dog


I look across the room, past the bed I am sitting on, to an image that evokes nostalgia in many of us. How comforting it is to see man's best friend curled up in front of a window soaking up the rays of sunshine pouring in. No worries or cares wrinkle his forehead, for he enjoys the moment; the softness of indoor carpeting, the warmth of the sun, and the love of his master, which he mirrors back to the inhabitants of his domain. To look into his eyes is to look into the eyes of a wise and aged grandfather who knows much from his experiences in life and understands exactly, with compassion and love, what another is experiencing. The old adage from William Shakespeare stating, "The eyes are the windows to the soul," could not be more true than when looking into the eyes of a dog, and particularly looking into the eyes of Bruno. There I see a thoughtful soul: a widow's grief; a child's curiousity; a prophet's knowing; a mother's embrace; a watchman's loyalty; a father's protection; and most importantly, the light of Christ.

Bruno. Bruno is my dog... my canine aficionado. I have had many "best friends" throughout my life, of the canine variety, but I'm not sure that any of them will hold a place in my heart as stringently as Bruno, the one I welcomed into our home when we really didn't need or want another dog (we had three already), but who grasped my heart the moment I met him. He sprinted the hundred feet into my open car door upon being asked, "Do you want to go home with me?" leaving me, mouth agape, across the vast yard at my friend's home. I guess the answer to that question was not just "yes" but "#$%& YES!"

I remember seeing an adoption ad posted for him on the front door of the Eden General Store one Saturday morning, when Kevin and I went for some breakfast at one of the town's few restaurants. The ad read, "Vizsla/German Shorthair Mix Needs Good Home" and then stated that the dog listed was an excellent dog, but needed a fenced yard, because he liked to run away. Weeks later, a friend of mine joked to me about the ad posted on the window, that he, too, had seen and commented, "Oh yeah... they're sure to find a home for him... a dog that likes to run away. Doesn't everyone want a dog like that?" A look of surprise settled on his face when I told him that I must have wanted a dog like that, for I had adopted him myself.

You see, I didn't realize at the time that I saw the ad, that Bruno was one of my best friend's dogs. The picture posted portrayed a russet brown bird dog, as nondescript as any chocolate lab I had ever seen. It wasn't until days later, in talking to a mutual friend, that I found out that the dog in the ad was indeed owned by my friend, and that she was worried sick about finding a good home for him, noting that it would be difficult because of his age and his bad habit of running. She didn't want to place Bruno in another home, for she loved him deeply, but her husband felt otherwise. He was angered easily by the slightest deviation from his rules, and neglected to remember that "a dog is a dog." You leave the ham bone out on the edge of the counter and it is quite likely that even the best behaved canine will give into temptation and snatch it up. They don't understand all the reasonings and consequences of man. They only see the reasoning in the moment... ham bone... yum. Bruno's mistake was to take that ham bone and enjoy it on the living room carpet. The rage and tempest that proceeded from her husband was of such great magnitude that no love was left in his heart for this special dog - only hatred. He despised Bruno. The ham bone was simply the excuse he needed to get rid of someone that stole his wife's attention from himself. She loved Bruno with an unconditional love that he couldn't help be jealous of. She confided to me that he was always hard on Bruno, and that it angered him that he ran away, but I don't think she ever considered that the reason Bruno might be running was, in fact, because of her husband. So, while she was on vacation with her family, and our mutual friend was watching her animals for her, I offered to take him during the vacation as a trial period, to see if he fit in with our family. We called her and asked her permission to take him for the week, and even though she was skeptical that this was the solution to her problem, she conceded that it couldn't hurt to try. She knew we had five children and three dogs already, with a fenced yard that didn't always keep them in... the dogs, that is. She wasn't sure that Bruno would get the best home with us, and that he might only prove to be a burden on an already seemingly burdened household.

A burden he was not. In fact, quite the opposite proved to be true, and we wished our other dogs were as well behaved and obedient as he. To my friend's bewilderment and surprise, we had stumbled upon a startling observation with Bruno. You see, he didn't run off - not even once. We walked through the neighborhood together, without a leash, and he stayed right with us. We let him out to do his business, and he didn't try to escape. If let out front, he stayed within calling distance and returned upon being beckoned. What?! This hard to contain canine wasn't so hard to contain! Perhaps, the reason Bruno didn't run was because he didn't feel he had anything to run from. He had found unconditional love, at last, and the fear and trembling present when I first met him was stripped away, leaving a calm and secure spirit in its place.

Our family has had the pleasure of Bruno's company for the last four years, now. He is my best friend when I am lonely and will sleep beside me when my husband is away. He is the hearthstone I warm myself beside on cold winter nights. He is the embrace I need from my mother when I am sad or have had a hard day. He is the protection I take with me on a solitary road trip and my security system when no one is at home. He is the constant in a tumultuous life of comings and goings and the ultimate giver of unconditional love. He always loves to see me, even when I look or feel terrible. He likes me even when I'm grouchy and forgives me instantly when I lose my cool over a ransacked garbage can or empty bread bag. The old roamer who used to run miles away from home, who got shot at on several occasions for stealing animals out of farmer's fur traps, and who still bears the buck shot under his skin and the scars on his feet from being entrapped himself, is now the same sweet dog lying in the sun on my bedroom floor. No longer does he emulate the greyhound's gaunt profile, or shake like a leaf in the wind. No... he is at peace, without fear, enjoying his moment in the sun.

Sunday, September 13, 2009

Poetry from the Funny Farmer

I stumbled upon a poem I wrote sometime this summer, and I actually can't quite remember writing it. I mean, I vaguely recognize the lines, but seriously cannot remember when I wrote it, other than I know it was within the last few months. I must have written it late at night, as I typically do, saved it in MS Word and went to bed. Upon finding it, I realized how grateful I am not to be feeling that way at the moment, but still could appreciate the beauty found within it.

A friend of mine just lost her step-brother at the hands of another and in our conversation about the funeral, I remarked to her that I find funerals to be quite beautiful. Although, some are terribly tragic, as with the case of her step-brother, and some are welcomed with relief for one who has suffered long enough, the emotion and the humanity present at the funeral of a loved one is a beautiful thing. Sometimes, pain and sadness, I think can be beautiful things, because they teach us greater love... greater appreciation, perhaps, for the things that are truly of worth in our lives. So, when I read this poem, I found it sad and lonely and somewhat forsaken (evidently QUITE forsaken, since I didn't even remember it was there)... but also beautiful. Gary Allen, the country singer, sings a song entitled, "Life Aint Always Beautiful" and I think we've all had our share of feeling that way. But we also have to remember the flip side of that record... "Life IS Beautiful," and sometimes the realization of that comes from experiencing what 'at the time' feels very much less than beautiful. Crying is beautiful because it is evidence that we have the ability to feel. Misery is beautiful because without it we wouldn't know what true joy is. I don't know... you get the picture!

The second poem is one I just now wrote. The idea came to me earlier today and, of course, the second I lay my head on the pillow, the words started flowing into my mind. This poem might seem melancholy, as well, but hey... at least I'm consistent! Ha ha... Maybe this writing thing is just the way I happen to get some of those somber thoughts shaken out of my heart and head. I still liked it, though, and I hope you all do, as well.

Untitled

Hands cover her mouth
To hold back the cries
With each passing day
A piece of her dies

The fire within
That lit up the room
Was known at one time
To dispel the gloom

But shrouded she is
With sadness and grief
That douses her fire
And gives no relief

The shroud of the night
Snuffs out the day
Another day spent
Along her life’s way

Her limbs are now weary
And drooping, her eyes
But sleep does not come
Only tears to despise

by Donna van Uitert
Summer 2009



Sell Me a Dream

Does anyone know where a dream can be bought?
Mine once was a gift, but I thought of it not.
I’m afraid that I left mine alone for too long.
It seems to have tired of me and is gone.

So neglectful was I with my very own dream,
I didn't take note of its absence, it seems,
For weeks, perhaps months, maybe even a year.
I now have lost something I once held so dear.

For years it was part of my spiritual whole
Ingrained in my heart and my mind and my soul.
My constant companion… my beacon of hope
The light at the end of the tunnel… the rope

That was offered to me in the years of my youth
As guidance - direction - for seeking of truth.
And now its importance, I’m deeply aware
Becomes even greater now that it’s not there.

So where do they go… those forgotten or left?
Those dreams that have fled leaving souls so bereft?
Recycled for others to more wisely use?
Or for yet but another’s neglect and abuse?

If I found my lost dream, would it come back to stay?
I’m not sure it is mine anymore to betray.
Perhaps, it has found itself happy to be
With one who will recognize worth and will see

The value in nurturing something so rare
As a dream that’s been gifted from Heavenly care.
Perhaps, although time with my previous friend
Has come and now gone, it may not be the end.

There may yet be another dream waiting for me
To hope for and work for and ultimately
Ignite what has long become dormant and still…
Encourage my hope and my heart and my will.

It’s certain I can’t justify the request
For another gift such as the one I suppressed.
But, buy it, I will, with whatever He takes,
This Maker of dreams, for the new dream He makes.

So, once more this question to all I would ask
And hope for your help to accomplish this task.
Does anyone know where a dream can be bought?
Mine once was a gift, but I thought of it not.

by Donna van Uitert
September 13, 2009

Thursday, September 10, 2009






It is now after six o’clock and I am still helping kids with homework. Just as I answer a question for Marin, then it’s Dayton’s turn…then Marin…then Dayton… You get the picture. If Vanessa wasn’t babysitting, we could throw her in the mix. Instead, she’ll probably call as soon as she gets a chance to work on her homework, and if not, we’ll be up late tonight. Luckily, Kevin got back in town late last night and is thus here to help Audra with hers. Hers is actually pretty quick… thank heavens. We are working on prime factorization for math and maps for history. I don’t remember ever having to know all the different types of projection maps available. In fact, I might indeed ask “Why is it necessary to memorize them?” Unless my child plans to become a cartographer, I see no need. And yet, here we sit detailing the strengths and weaknesses of each of the four common map projections. If Marin wants to be a cartographer someday, I’m sure she could have speedily memorized and learned about these in her cartography class. Welcome to public school… the source of certain pertinent information, but also decidedly the source of oodles and oodles of unnecessary fact memorization. I guarantee you that none of these kids of mine will remember what kinds of projections there are in a few months. And the amazing thing is that they won’t NEED to remember them… EVER. Boy howdy, do I love to waste my time, or what?! And yes... you guessed it... I'm a little bit grouchy.

On a happier note, Marin, Dayton and Vanessa are all on Student Council. They made posters and gave campaign speeches. Marin is the Secretary, Vanessa the Treasurer, and Dayton is a Class Representative. Now, we'll just have to see if they have any TIME to be on Student Council after all of their well spent time regurgitating stimulating facts about the Winkel Triple Projection Map. Sorry... just couldn't help it.

Audra is busy sewing papers together for homemade books that she makes and plans to give to all of her friends and family. She's been making them for a couple of months now and likes to copy text from other books. You can open one and read about Simba and Timone, or open another and read about Dorothy on her way to Oz. She's a sweet girl... most of the time. We actually quite prefer her when she is NOT sticking her tongue out, hitting, kicking, or telling a story about how she "didn't do it!"

In other news: our lovely snake is loose in the house. Whither he goes, we know not. I hope to find him alive and preferably not hooked onto anyone's toes. I suspect that this is Kevin's hope, as well. (but, my, doesn't Kevin have delicious looking toes? I should say...)

And with that, I bid you adieu... a final farewell. Vanessa shall grace us with her presence in a short period of time, at which point I can restart the tutoring process once again. Anyone game for a jolly time with predicates, prepositional phrases, cardinal compasses, or prime factorizations? If so, applications are being accepted during normal business hours, which at present is between the hours of seven a.m. and ten p.m. Plenty of time to submit...no excuses...