Free At Last!

The fear in her heart raced with itself.  The pounding wouldn’t subside as people in white masks, showing only their eyes reached for her, grasped her limbs with their gloved hands and pulled her towards them.  She could hear them murmuring but could not decipher the words although the tone was a mixture of sadness and hushed excitement. They took her from one receptacle and placed her in another, the first one hard and cold and bright, the second warm and soft.  As they closed it her heart continued to race.  Where was she going?  Who were these people?  Where was she going?  What would they do to her?  What hadn’t been done to her?  Was she in for more pain, more uncertainty?  She felt the earth move under her, and finally the soft hum and gentle rocking put her to sleep. 

Awake and alert as soon as the vehicle stopped she gazed in the darkness for some sort of sign that all would be good.  A door opened, then another.  Light spilled in to where she had been held, caged and alone.  At least she thought she had been alone.  Sounds and smells assaulted her senses, as if this were the first time she opened her eyes or took a breath.  There were others!  As they tried to communicate, her captors began unloading the receptacles, one by one. 

Out into the warm sunlight on a grassy yard, they were set down, one by one.  The openings to their cages were opened all at once by a personal attendant.  And that voice!  Oh, that soft voice!  It sounded so gentle!  Not harmful at all.  She looked around.  Then she looked down.  What was this?  She sniffed the air.  It smelled so good!  Not like chemicals or soap or metal!  As she stepped out, cautious but curious, she grew wondrous as to what was on the bottom of her feet.  Soft and cool, she laid down upon it and was still for just a moment.  She looked around.  The others were watching her.  All of  them.  No one else had ventured out yet.  She was the first, and danger be damned!  This soft floor felt marvelous and she rolled and squirmed and memories, distant though they were, pooled up from somewhere within.  She had done this before, as a young puppy, with her brothers and sisters!  She had forgotten, after years of torture that she was a dog, not a thing to be prodded and shaved and hooked up to machines.  She was a beagle, of proud heritage, with a nose that could smell amazing things that no other living being near her could.  She stopped wiggling for a minute and looked up.  Her tongue hanging out of her mouth, her eyes bright. 

“Woof!”  she exclaimed.  It came out as a whisper, as her vocal chords had been cut years ago to keep her quiet in the lab.  (No one wants to hear dogs bark and cry while they do experiments on them.)  But it was a woof nonetheless and the others heard her and so had their attendants and all of them, with their eyes bright, seemed to smile – human and canine.

“Good girl!” someone said, tears running down their face. 

Another beagle stepped out of a carrier, then another.  Freedom had come, although they had no idea that they were waiting for it.  All had lived to see the day when they could walk on the grass, sniff other dogs, and run and play.  At the moment most were shell shocked and it would take days, months, maybe even years for them to trust the hand attached to a human being, but with time anything is possible.  It was possible for these dogs to survive horrors that we wouldn’t want to inflict on our own.  Now we could give them the life, the love, and the care they so deserved.

She looked up and closed her eyes against the brightness and the warmth of the sun.  It was a good day to be alive.  It was a very good day.  Her heart was full and no longer racing.  With a wag of her tail she set off to make new friends.

Nightmares

This morning I had a nightmare.  I was kidnapped, with the kids and a group from Scouts (I think).  People looked familiar but I had no idea who they were.  The kidnapper was a guy who looked like Joe Montegna.  He was viscous and we were always uncertain if he meant to kill us or not and I was so scared for the kids and we were given plenty of chances to run because the group was a large one but everyone was scared to do anything and I just wanted the kids to be safe and I kept telling them to call 911 when he was planning to take a few of the adults away, including me, but either they didn't have a phone or they just were too scared to.  It was one of those dreams where I couldn't make myself fall asleep afterwards to find out what happens.  I woke up finally after he slit a woman's throat who walked into the encampment as an example of what he would do to the rest of us.  The dream is still so vivid in my mind I feel I've left the kids behind because I won't go back to sleep to rescue them.
Am I losing my mind?  I know my anxiety attacks are back.

A Week of Tragedies

            This week has been insane.  Starting last Friday, we learned of a kid in our 4H group that got in a horrible accident and is now in critical condition.  This kid is one of the sweetest little boys one could ever meet, with a natural curiosity about the world in which he lives.  He may never be able to move freely again, we just don’t know. We don’t know if there’s brain damage yet and not being part of the family we just have to wait and see what happens.  All we can do is pray and we definitely do that.  Whether it is to God, Allah or a tree, prayers are always welcome. 

 

            That’s the type of week it was – one of multiple prayers for multiple people.

 

            The next crazy thing that happened was Robin William’s committing suicide.  Why?  Why?  It was all I could hear and see from my friends, family, the internet – why would he do such a thing?  This remarkable man who could make us laugh and cry within the same frame in a movie.  What was so horrible that he couldn’t work through it?  And then the realization that we would never hear any new material from him, never see him act again or be on stage, watch him age and change his craft.  It was all so final.  The photo montages and the blogs offering up heartfelt and very real grief, experiences and remembrances – they were all beautiful. 

 

 

 

 

Then the really crazy thing – his daughter getting harassed on Twitter.  What is up with that?  Why are all the haters so quick to be ignorant when no one can see them?  What do they think they can accomplish?  All I can say is that their words don’t matter, Zelda, and you are way more than they will ever be.  My heart goes out to you and your family.  Losing a dad is one of the worst things you can go through and I still need and miss my dad after 10+ years.  Keep your memories – you don’t have to answer to anyone.  My condolences to you and your family, and the world on the loss of this caring, quixotic man.

 

            The last (I hope) crazy moment of the week would be the abduction of two Amish girls from my neighborhood.  The fear and the anger that someone would pluck two little girls from their farm stand still is unimaginable, even though it happened.  The searches, the helicopters flying overhead, seeing the dive teams heading out to look for a car or bodies, or both in the local swimming and boating areas was surreal.  Not letting a nine year old ride his bike around the block for fear of his disappearing, and having to explain why.  Innocence disappears quickly in the face of tragedy.  Prayers again were offered up for the safe return of these children, for the rescue workers and the police, for the news crews to be kind to the Amish community in their reporting.  When news came over the scanners that the girls were safe Facebook let the locals know before it hit the airwaves.  I was able to go upstairs, wake a little boy, and tell him the girls were ok, they were home with their family, safe and sound.  After a “Thank God” and a big hug both of us were able to finally sleep through the night for the first time in a week.