How to make an cynic cry at christmas

Even my friends would probably call me a cynic, and I'm sure I've been called much worse by others. We all get those sweet, sappy, feel-good emails. I don't even give them a read, and most people know me well enough not to forward them to me. But this one snuck into my mailbox this afternoon, titled "Martha's Christmas Miracle":

Martha was sitting in her living room watching television this Christmas Eve, alone as she had been for the last five years. All of her children had married and moved to the four corners of the nation. All the animals had been fed and now were safely in either the kennel building or lazily laying around the house. Martha had to stop to think how many dogs she had at her house this Christmas, she sighed when she realized there were 16. She did rescue and the number of dogs was always changing with some dogs being adopted, and new abandoned dogs coming in. Feeling overwhelmed by the number of dogs she had and all the dogs still left in shelters to die because there was no room for them in rescue, Martha seriously wondered if she should stop working rescue.

Tonight she had a new dog, brought home that day. Martha didn't really plan on adding another dog but on her way home from the store she saw a dog lying on the side of the road. Certain the dog was dead, Martha stopped to pick up the body and take it home for a burial. As she got closer, she recognized the shell of an Alaskan Malamute, the breed she rescued. Covered by cuts and festering wounds, what fur was left was matted and filthy, it was so skinny that laying there you could see each rib and its hipbones were the widest part of his body. With tears in her eyes, mourning for what once had been a majestic animal now reduced to almost a skeleton she reached down to give the poor dog one last pat on the head. "Oh, you poor boy, what a way to end your life. Well, at least I can name you and give you a decent farewell." As her tears fell on the dog's head, one eye slowly opened and the tail gave a single wag. "You're alive! Everything will be OK now, I'll take you home and you will have a soft bed and food tonight." Tears were streaming down her face, this time from happiness. The rest of the afternoon was spent cleaning the wounds of the dog she named "Icy" and making sure he was able to eat and drink water. Martha set up the large run in the kennel building for him. A soft blanket and a thick foam pad was to be his bed, fresh water and food beside him. Papers for his 'necessary functions' were placed at the far end of the run. He lay there watching every move she made.

Later that evening Martha went down to the kennel to check on the new boy and feed the other dogs. As she walked in the door the new boy shakily stood to greet her. As she was talking to Icy, she heard the old clock in the building strike midnight. Much to her amazement, Icy said "Thank you." Martha thought, now I am sure I have been around dogs too long, I could swear I heard Icy speak. Icy continued: "Martha, yes I am talking to you in human language, you see, at the stroke of midnight on Christmas Day, all animals can speak. Let me tell you what happened to me today."

"I have been kept in a dark barn for a long time by some very mean people who beat me and often forgot to feed me. Two days ago I found a loose board on the barn and was able to escape. I walked as fast as I could, looking for some kind person to feed me and give me a warm place to sleep before I died. I was in the middle of a big field when I couldn't walk or even crawl any more, I laid down, knowing I was about to cross to the Rainbow Bridge. As I stepped onto the Bridge, an angel came towards me." "Icy," the angel said "If you agree, we have a a job for you before cross the Bridge. There is a very kind human who needs you today to restore her sprit."

"Of course I agreed to help a human -- that is what Malamutes do. The angel picked up my body and carried it
to the side of a road and laid it down. The next thing I remember is you were scratching my ear and talking to me and your tears were falling on my face. You have cared for me this day."

Martha heard a chorus of voices all about her. To her amazement she was surrounded not only by her dogs, but dogs she had rescued and sent on to forever homes, all voicing stories how Martha had cared for them and restored them to health and loved them, thanking her for her love. The first Malamute Martha had rescued many years ago stepped to the front of the gathering and said, "Martha, you took us in to your home, cared for us, healed us both in body and spirit, and then, even though it broke your heart, sent us on to our new forever families. This gave us a life we would never have had without you. Others of us never were adopted and lived out our lives with you, loved and cared for as if we were your own dogs. In our hearts we are all your dogs. Thank you."

Icy looked at Martha and told her, "It is getting late and you will have many people here tomorrow to celebrate Christmas. And you have your rescue work to continue. Our time to be able to talk to you is growing short, but always remember what happened tonight." At that point all of the dogs joined in a joyous howl which echoed from the heavens to the ends of the earth.

We had 16 dogs in the house during this past snow storm and this story really struck home. Requests to take in more dogs come in daily. Sometimes I'm afraid to answer the phone or open my email. Yesterday I cleaned up pictures of unknown dogs from my computer desktop. Pictures that people had sent to me hoping that I would help that dog. It pains me delete those pictures knowing that I may have been that dog's last chance. Sometimes I think about getting out of rescue altogether. My house suffers for it, my career, such as it is, has suffered for it, and I'm concerned that sometimes my relationship with Clay suffers for it too.

I'm 51 years old, and even with the most optimistic estimate, my life is surely at least half over. It is unlikely that I will make a profound influence on the world, but I can make a difference to at least a few dogs who cross my path. Does it matter in the grand scheme of things?, who knows, but I do believe that a life spent caring about and for something other than oneself is a life well lived, and a life with meaning.

The dogs pictured here are dogs I couldn't help. Some of them died here, some had to euthanized because they had medical, psychological, or social problems I couldn't solve. All deserved better.