DADDY AND THE ONE EYED DOG

This is another tale from several years ago-- --actually the one that started my serious turn at writing. It's a true story--sad--but true.

Daddy was always a rough character. He believed that each thing had its place in God’s scheme of things, and that’s where it should stay. He did not give way to new thinking, nor did he show or participate in emotion. But in his older years, Daddy began to mellow. And even though he talked a mean talk, his heart began to discover things that he either had never experienced, or had simply never practiced before in his life.

Such was the case with the one eyed dog.

One year, a little bit before Thanksgiving, someone abandoned a little dog on the highway just down from Daddy’s shop. She was just a little thing, a mutt. A stray dog on the 70 Highway usually meant a dead dog. A stray in front of daddy’s shop had an even slimmer chance, as the traffic was heavier with cars pulling in and out of the parking lot. Daddy was never an animal hater, but he was not a man that took on stray animals either. The usual method of discard was chasing them off to be somebody else’s problem.

But for some reason, Daddy let the one eyed dog stay around the shop. Before too long, he was feeding her and letting her sleep inside at night. Everyday, Daddy would open up his shop and be greeted by the little happy one-eyed creature. She adored him and whether he liked it or not, he was falling in love with her.

I found out about the dog thru a phone call to my mother. My experience with animals has been the exact opposite of Daddy’s. I had three dogs and a cat living in the house with me, which he found completely unacceptable and out of God’s plan. Momma told me about the little dog and how she worshipped Daddy, following his every step and move. She also told me how hard Daddy fought to keep anyone from seeing that he had fallen for her too.

When I spoke to him, he said, “I found you another dog!” He was referring to my habit of taking in strays but, I could tell by the tone of his voice that he was in no way serious about giving the dog to me. As we talked, he tried to make it sound like it was just another thing underfoot that needed to be discarded or put out of HIS misery. I had heard this broken record since I was a child. It was Daddy’s view on just about everything in his life. His kids, his business, his house, his wife, his taxes, (Especially his taxes) were all nuisances that he repeatedly professed he wished he’d never been saddled with. That was just the way Daddy saw things.

But when he talked about the dog, there was something different in his voice. Maybe it was the fact he was trying to talk and watch TV at the same time. Maybe I had heard the same old hogwash so many times I was only half way listening. Or may, just maybe, something was happening here that I had yet to understand.

Christmas came, and I made the pilgrimage home to see the folks and to meet the little animal. She had been there almost a month, and still had no name other than “dog”. The first time I laid eyes on her, I said, “Well she’s just a little bit of nothing.” Thereafter, I called her Little Bit.

She was just a tiny thing that carried the scars of abuse. Her black and white coat of fur was more dirt and grease than color. She had one shining eye that sparkled with life. Though she only had the one eye to see, I could see the sparkle turn to pure star fire when she was looking at Daddy. She was focused on him most of the time, and that made her happy.

I left that Christmas thinking that I should have brought Little Bit home with me. But I knew that I could not take on another animal as I already had four. So I turned to prayer, asking God to watch over her and keep her safe.

The first of the year came, and I called home. When I asked about Little Bit, Daddy said she was sick and acting strangely. He thought that she had worms and planned to go to the vet and ask for some worm medicine the next morning.

“Why not just take her in and let the vet look at her.” I asked.

“I’m not spending any money on that damn dog!’ he said. “If she dies, it’s just another dog. I’m going to get rid of her anyway!”
I was crushed. I knew in my heart that Little Bit was going to die, and there was nothing I could do about it.

The next day I went to work and tried not to think about the dog. I was successful till around 9 am, when I finally broke down and called the shop. My brother answered the phone.

“Is the dog still alive?” I asked.

“No.” he answered.

He gave me a short description of the events of the morning.
When he came to work, Little Bit was having seizures and was very ill. He said that he took her to his vet, but she was too far gone to save. She had most likely ingested antifreeze and it had destroyed her kidneys. The vet had volunteered to put her to sleep, and he had consented.

The needle found its mark, and the light that had once been so brilliant, faded from the one shining eye, never to return.

Little Bit was gone.

Somehow I had already known, but I was still upset by the news of the dogs passing. It was bound to happen sooner or later. With the danger of the highway and the chemicals used in the shop, there was no way around a little dog getting into some kind of deadly mischief.

I called my Mother that evening. She said she’d been crying all afternoon.

“I guess Daddy just doesn’t care.” I said. “After all, it’s just another dog.”

“Your Daddy has sit in his chair all afternoon without speaking a word.” She said, “He just looks out the window.”
She told me of how my Daddy had went to the shop the night before to check on Little Bit, and how in the morning, it was him who told my brother to take her to the vet and have him do whatever he could to help her.

I could hardly believe what she was telling me. My Daddy didn’t act like that! My Daddy didn’t think like that!  There was no way he would have paid a vet to take care of a little dirty, one -eyed dog that somebody had dumped on the roadside.
There was no way that its death had rendered him silent and solemn! It was just another dog…wasn’t it?

A strange peace came over me as I realized that God works in such wondrous and mysterious miracles by using such small things in our lives.
Little Bit wasn’t just another dog. She was a messenger with a purpose. God had sent that dirty, damaged, precious dog to touch my Daddy’s heart. Where others had tried a life time to reach his gentler spirit, a little one eyed dog had done it.

She came like a little angel and did her job. When it was done, she left us forever.

“I still feel bad.” I told my Mother. “If I had brought her home with me to the shelter, she could have been adopted.”
“But son, “Momma said, “She already was.”