Starving Dogs

One spring a few years ago I attended a study series on angels hosted by Rev. Dottie Dumas of First United Methodist Church in Brookshire, Texas. Brookshire is a small community west of Katy, which is just west of Houston. I know this fact is probably completely off the map of interesting to the reader. But if you are familiar with the Houston area, you know most of our cities blend into each other almost seamlessly. In fact, in many cases, you aren't even aware you have left Houston city limits and have entered a totally new community. However, there is a fair space of land between Brookshire and Katy. Hence, Brookshire has a rural feel to it that is experienced in many of our outlying communities. You leave tall buildings in your rear view mirror and, within minutes, enter farmland vistas. You know for a fact that you have left the city and have arrived in the country. While one can be only a few short miles from bustling city lights, there is a provincial aura in rural Texas.

We all know that big city oil tycoons wear ten gallon hats and cowboy boots to look the part of a Texan, but the folk in the country wear cowboy boots because they really ride horses to work the ranch. The cowboy hat isn't a fashion statement to say, "I'm a Texan, ya'll." It is a chapeau of vital necessity in the Texas sun. All this rambling of mine is merely to make it clear that, even though Brookshire was a good one hour drive from my office in Missouri City at that time, I really, really, really wanted to attend this study regarding angels and their role in the Bible and their role in our world. I had a definitive reason for wanting to know about angels.

On October 15, 2006, I was in a terrible car accident. It was a stormy Sunday afternoon. The weather was disastrous, and my path home required that I navigate the Fred Hartman suspension bridge. The downward side of the north bound lanes are notorious for holding water. Ninety-six wrecks were reported for 2006 in the first nine months - all on this one section of the bridge. While I won't go into details of the accident in this blog, suffice it to say, I should not be alive today. The impact from the truck that plowed me backward down the bridge ended with my car shoved (backward) up onto the concrete retaining wall, and the truck's tailgate a mere eighteen inches from my windshield. The whole incident was surreal. It didn't happen in slow motion as many people say, but I had an acute sense of a presence sitting in the passenger's seat.

When everything came to a halt, the hackles came up on the back of my neck. I actually turned to look at the person sitting next to me. Within seconds the sensation of the presence lifted. It took a few moments to recover from the initial shock, but the remembrance of a presence in the car stayed with me for days. I wondered if it was my father who died in 1986. Was it my Aunt Jackie who had died a few years prior? Was it my guardian angel? I wanted to know. So, when Brookshire announced they were going to study angels, I was determined to go. The only problem I had was mother. I simply could not leave mother at home alone all day and all night. I needed to get her out of the house a little for socialization on even a small scale. Thus, braving the knowledge that she might say or do anything unpredictable, I made plans to attend.

We rocked along a couple of weeks just fine. Mother was content to sit and listen. It was apparent that she didn't understand most of the conversations going on around her. Everyone at the tables knew she had Alzheimer's. Rev. Dottie, who is at all times gracious, welcoming and wonderful with people, did her utmost to make mother feel comfortable and included.

As we approached Easter, the sessions had to be moved around to different nights to accommodate church events. This included the evenings scheduled for choir rehearsals, which I was also participating in for Easter Sunday. One particular night we ran long in order to get to a certain point before the holiday break. As the night wore on, mother started to look at her watch and tap it. I quietly inquired if she was alright. She indicated the time and was whispering about how late it was. I assured mother that we would be home in time to check her blood sugar, take her insulin and pills before bedtime. This didn't ease her mind. She got frustrated with me. She tapped her watch pretty firmly and said, "The dogs." I told mom the dogs were quite used to being in the house for long periods of time - they were fine. She was not buying it. By now the majority of the people in the session could see our little byplay. Mother's whispers were becoming louder. Everyone clearly heard, "Those dogs need to be fed. It's late." I, once again, whispered back that the dogs would be fine until we got home.

Mother was becoming more agitated and obsessed over the passing of time. The singular issue of needing to feed the dogs at a specific hour every evening was the only thought she was grasping. Thankfully, everyone in the room acted as if they didn't hear a thing. Fifteen more minutes passed and, in the loudest of theatrical whispers that would do an off Broadway actor justice, mother turns to me and says, "Those dogs are going to starve to death. They're going to die!" Trying to quell her response, I also fell into loud whisper mode and retorted, "Mother, Bella weighs a hundred and nineteen pounds. I don't think she'll starve before 9:15!"

The lady beside me lost it. She had her face turned away. Her shoulders were shaking uncontrollably with laughter. Her hand was clamped over her mouth in an attempt to stifle the noise trying to erupt. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. I thought she was going to collapse under the table.

Dottie calmly called a halt to the study. I didn't know if she intended to wrap up the evening at a specific section in the study, or if she was calling a cease fire due to the torture taking place on our side of the room. After all, how could she continue with mother gesturing at her watch, tapping her finger loudly on the bezel and practically talking out loud? How could she compete with those imaginary little conversation bubbles appearing over everyone's heads? I could see the balloon clouds from the cartoons floating in the air filling with phrases such as, "What kind of dog weighs 119 pounds?" "Is that woman signaling to the preacher that she's running long? I wonder if that would work during the sermon on Sunday?" "Geeze, Suzy's really losing it over there. If she were drinking milk it would be spewing from her nose."

Class dismissed. The grand study of angels would go on a back burner. Starving dogs in Richmond got the same billing as starving children in China. I did not get closure that evening regarding the presence in the car on the day of the accident. I arrived home that night to be greeted by two fat and happy pooches who were ecstatic at my return. They were eagerly dancing around their dinner bowls as if they hadn't seen food in a month. Mother did not resist. She said, "See, I told you those dogs needed to eat!" She preened herself on being right. I sagely squashed all the arguments I had ready. Like a dutiful child put in her place, I put on my poker face and fed my starving dogs.