A Dogs' Tail

“There was an amazing connection between us from the moment we laid eyes on each other!” – Irving Rivera

 

A Dog’s Tail

 

“How did you know which dog to bring home when you went to the animal shelter looking for one?” I, as a tween, said to my Uncle Jerry.

 

Jerry Lloyd spent most of his life in Montpelier, Idaho, a small town of about two-thousand-six-hundred people.  At least that’s what the size was a few years ago. I haven’t been back since my Uncle Jerry passed away.  His passing went unnoticed by most, because as measured by many standards he would be considered as simple, insignificant.  But, to me he was a giant, a man of expansive love and experience.

 

“I just look until I find the one who knows me.”  Jerry replied with his seemingly, unending, characteristic twinkling eyes.

 

That memory is perhaps the most impressive tale about dogs my uncle taught me. It’s vivid memory seems to have been branded into my soul.  I can still see the vision of us talking in one of his hay fields under a deep blue canopy, punctuated with the bright yellow sun, not long after the alfalfa had been cut.  We were standing near the rear of his mud splattered, white flatbed truck, admiring his newly adopted dog as he stood as a sentinel, his feet almost above our shoulders, since he was on the truck’s elevated flat. I was questioning Jerry, with wonder, about the unmistakable and unbreakable bond he and his furry mate shared.  I’ve rarely seen anything like it, up to now.

 

A few days ago, I was visiting my friend Irving Rivera, a U.S. Military Veteran, as he recounted his own similar tale, while sitting across his kitchen table from me.

 

“I was struggling with PTSD from my service in Afghanistan.  I’d been consulting with my doctor at the VA in Salt Lake City.  My Doc said, ‘This isn’t something that’ll ever go away, I’m sorry to say!’”  Irving said, while we both looked through the kitchen slider, onto his deck, at his smiling, mouth-full-of-large-red-ball, deep brown chocolate Labrador.

 

“We were driving through Idaho where we stopped at a store. There was a guy there selling puppies from his dog’s recent litter. When I saw him (his head nodding toward the glass framed pup) I knew him!  Our eyes locked!”

 

Irving told me that he didn’t have the money necessary to purchase his soul-mate dog at the time, so he asked the man to hold the dog for him until he could go home, make a little more money and come back. The man agreed!

 

After two weeks Irving had earned and saved the money.  He made the long drive back to Idaho where he met the patient man at his home, paid him the money, collected his dog and drove to the very house we were sitting in.

 

“He rested his head on my leg the whole drive home!”  Irving choked out with emotion.  “He can sense my PSD anxiety attacks coming on!  He instinctively comes over and licks my hands to comfort me.  He goes to bed with me every night and waits until I fall asleep before he inspects the house.  Then he stays up all night watching to make sure I’m all right, protected.  In the morning he senses when I’m about to awaken and comes in to be there when I get up.  I would never leave him.  I love that dog!”

 

“How did you know which dog to bring home when you went to the animal shelter looking for one?” I remembered myself saying, as a tween, to my Uncle Jerry.

 

Irving Rivera has spent the most recent few years of his life in a small town in Tooele Valley, Utah.  At least, that’s where he’s been living after serving you and me in Afghanistan, while with the U.S. Military. His life here has been unnoticed by most, because as measured by many standards he would be considered as simple, insignificant.  But, to me he’s a giant, a man of expansive love and experience.

 

“I just look until I find the one who knows me.”  Jerry once said with his seemingly, unending, characteristic twinkling eyes.

 

“We were driving through Idaho where we stopped at a store. There was a guy there with a litter of puppies. When I saw him (his head nodding toward the glass framed pup) I knew him!  Our eyes locked! There was an amazing connection between us from the moment we laid eyes on each other!”  Irving said, as if looking at me through Jerry’s seemingly, unending, characteristic twinkling eyes.

 

I looked out of Irving’s kitchen door.  His dog’s chocolate tail had been keeping beat with the words of his pal.  It punctuated Jerry and Irving’s story, a dog’s tail.