This I Believe Party

Our local NPR station, WKMS, and our wonderful magazine, Paducah Life, sponsored a This I Believe essay writing contest, and yesterday they held a party to celebrate. It was held at our most wonderful independent movie theater, Maiden Alley Cinema. (Maiden Alley, just a block off the river, used to host another ... um ... business ... er ... clientele... oh, never mind.) This weekend the theater is playing The Man on the Radio in the Red Shoes, a documentary on Garrison Keillor.
At the party, there was an open mic (mike?) session, and I read this:

I believe that if you walk through a busy airport with a big bunch of daffodils that you just picked from your garden people will smile at you. Everyone. Daffodils have the power.


I believe that a lifelong laughing friend of the heart can recline, supine, paralyzed by a cancer in her brain, locked by her disloyal body in a little dark room, with the blinds drawn so she can “rest”. This friend who always laughed and helped, loved open fields and dogs running, and brought more smiles than any daffodil, now in her special hospice gown with oxygen and sensory deprivation. I believe that her soul will triumph and I won’t understand the mystery of it.

I believe that God reveals himself in the friend with cancer when she cries, “Oh help me” and in the baby who smells right and who searches my face with virgin blurry vision. Those eyes not fully of this world. Yet. Still.

And yes, I believe there is God deep in my Old Dog’s eyes, eyes of knowing and acceptance and love resounding. Tolerance.

God is revealed in the gentle back rub of a soul mate; that touch which asks nothing but to give comfort. Feeling the softness of skin on skin. Humanity in touch.

I believe in community. In a fine southern river town where people care. In the mysteries of that water, quiet, deadly, beautiful, peaceful, powerful as heaven.

Constant as a friend.

hug your friends today, be they human, hound, far, near, gone, new, needy, laughing or sad

This I Believe

I believe that in the eyes of a dog I see God.

If you know dogs, this is not sacrilege. You won't shout, "Blasphemy!" If you don't know dogs, fortunately God is as forgiving. And perhaps, in another life, you will be so blessed.

My old dog looks at me now with eyes that are growing distant. He’s fourteen, and I know my time of learning from him is breathtakingly short.

Throughout his life, those eyes saw fun. They saw joy and mischief with an innocence no human can attain. The eyes of a human possess a knowledge of self, of ego. But not a dog.

I believe this old dog, whose every step is an effort right now, showed me the divine. "How?" say the deprived. How could a dog point to heaven? Well, I answer, does an angel waste a moment on worry? Don't angels revel in the beauty of today? Does God love me for all of my imperfections, all of my slights, in spite of my atrocious inattention?

My old dog was an example. In his prime, my old dog hunted with purpose, without agenda, by instinct. He was without deliberation when he killed. I believe that if God gave me the privilege of being able to think about killing, with that privilege came the responsibility of not. Of finding ways to work things out.

My old dog's eyes showed me godly love and forgiveness. I wonder about humans who chain their dogs in the back yard. Or worse. There is so much worse. In spite of unspeakable cruelty and neglect, a dog will still love her human. Dogs don’t confuse love and trust.

In those eyes I believe I can see a God who loves humans who kill each other for what? Oil? Power? Revenge? Wealth? Humans who leave Him all the time, and use His name to justify, or excuse, their wars. We come home to Him and He still welcomes us. Humans are incapable of such love. Dogs and God.

My old dog has slept in my bedroom all of his life, so why should I worry about all those dogs chained in backyards? Because God sent me my old dog so I would know better? Because He created me: this soul who was born loving the creatures He made first? I look into the eyes of my old dog, and I see that God.


How do I see all of this in my old dog's eyes? I believe that because I look with my heart, and I listen with my soul, it is all there, in my old dog's eyes.

hug your hounds

We're home

We're home from our trip. And Blogger is being perfectly horrid. It will not let me upload a single photo. So what, you ask, this is a blog of stories, is it not?
Not when I took photos specifically for you, dear readers. Photos of the show grounds and of the camper in which we were graciously hosted. Photos of the dogs and of dog show fashion. Photos of Jake and his beautiful Gwen. Photos of Xela, and Jake's other horses.
I was going to show those of you who hadn't been to a dog show before what they are like, and I wrote the post in my mind during the long, lonely drive home.
I also called in to the NPR show, Talk of the Nation, during the long, lonely drive home! They were doing a story on charisma, and I wanted to make the point that animals have charisma. They let me on! You can hear it HERE, and I'm on at 11.10 into the segment. My voice is the squeaky, nervous one. Of course, I made my point much better about ten times over after the program ended. In my head. It was a very long, lonely drive home, have I mentioned that?
Lindy Loo and Swede William were zonked out, content to be on the way, and since it was Monday the cell phone minutes weren't free. But Bill called a second after I was on Talk of the Nation; he was checking his email in the kitchen and he heard Neal Conan say, "Our next caller is Patience from Paducah, Kentucky," and he choked on his Dorito. I talked about Secretariat, and I wanted to add that dogs have charisma, too. Dogs who win Best In Show at Westminster have tremendous charisma; that's why they call it "animal magnetism". And then there are our blogging friends, Wally and Joe Stains, who are as charismatic as any human could ever hope to be.
So that was the excitement on the Western Kentucky Parkway this afternoon.
I hope I can share my photos with you tomorrow.

It is good to be home.

hug your hounds