____ Keygar
It was one of those autumn days you
dream about during a long sizzling summer. Warm in the sun but a little chilly
out of it. Our dog was stretched sleepily on the back lawn, which was browned,
by the summer sun and an attack of locusts in the country area where we live.
I was working on this website
looking for inspiration when I happened across an article on prayer and faith.
Soon I was absorbed in the author’s study and analysis of one of my favorite
subjects, “how and why God answers prayer”. I have experienced many answers to
prayers in my life, particularly during crises when I felt most reliant on and
close to God. Miraculous answers and deliverances in response to my heartfelt
cries to God are strewn along the bumpy path my life has taken. Lately however,
things had been going along fairly smoothly and it had been a while since I had
seen evidence of God’s comfort and presence in an attention getting way.
The hours eroded away under a
tide of information gathering and web browsing, and soon I noticed that this
beautiful autumn day was quickly turning into a chilly autumn night. I looked
out through the dining room window. Our dog was getting restless, her stomach
letting her know it was time for dinner.
She is a wonderful dog, as most
are. A Labrador Staffy cross. My wife and I first decided to buy a dog when we
planned to move to the country. After all, what good are gum trees, a few acres
of land, hills and kangaroos, without a dog? I purchased our dog without
telling my wife and hid her in the laundry, the dog that is. When my wife came
home, wanting to surprise her, I said something like, “Darlin’, there’s
something strange going on in the laundry, do you want to check it out?”
She opened the door to a love
affair that is still going on as I write this. My wife and I live on our own so
our dog is our daughter and is treated as such. She’s well behaved, obedient,
quiet and never complains, nothing like our children. (We love them too of
course).
I got up from the computer,
watery eyed and a bit stiff and went to the refrigerator and got the polony
meat roll out for the dog. I cut off a thick slice; she’s a big girl with a big
appetite. I gave the usual “here’s dinner” whistle and she came bolting to the
back door, snow white teeth smiling and mouth drooling. Don’t you love it?
Sometimes I break the meat up
into pieces and after making her sit, throw it at her from a distance making
her catch it in her mouth. It’s how I always wanted to eat as a child but
wasn’t allowed to. I decided to do this on this occasion.
When most of the meat was gone
there was one piece left, “a little large” I thought, “but she can catch it and
chew it up”. She focused on it as it sailed towards her and caught it
decisively. “Well that’s that” I thought and went back inside to wash my hands.
After a minute or so, for no
reason that I can remember I went back outside. First miracle. There was the
dog, sitting on the lawn, wide eyed and healthy looking. Problem was, there was
a sizeable amount of white foam dripping from her mouth. “Odd” I thought, “So
is the way she is just sitting there”. I called her over. She came. “Seems all
right, but……”.
My heart was starting to thump a
little. I walked to the lawn and called her again as I didn’t want a pile of
white foamy drool on the back doorstep. She came and sat on the lawn, but she
was moving slower. A realization hammered itself into my brain, “SHE’S NOT
BREATHING”.
Panic, controlled, but
nonetheless panic, hit home. “WHY isn’t she breathing, WHERE’S all the foam coming
from, HOW come she can still walk?” It dawned on this dope that she must be
choking on something, probably that last bit of oversized meat I threw her.
“What an idiot I am” I yelled out loud. “What do I do?”, “I’ve never faced
anything like this before”, “how is my wife going to handle my having killed
her dog”, “how can I lift her to get her to the vet? is the vet open today?
it’s probably too late anyway”. All these and other thoughts ran wildly through
my confused mind.
Then it happened. Our dog just quietly lay down, went limp and closed her eyes. I lifted her up slightly. She was just like a rag doll. “SHE’S DYING” a sad voice screamed in my head. I remembered something. I put my shaking arms around her and squeezed as hard as I could. This was supposed to as I recalled, pop out anything obstructing her airways. It didn’t. She lay there motionless, mouth open, foam running down over her dragging tongue, and eyes closed. That was it. For all intents and purposes our “daughter” was dead.
I remembered the article I was
reading on the internet earlier about prayer. If ever I needed divine help it
was now! Out loud I said, “Lord God, in Jesus name help me please. Help me to
save this dog. She belongs to you. She’s one of your animals, one of your creations”.
I opened her mouth. It was not a pretty sight. I thrust my hand down her
throat. She involuntarily bit down tearing a piece of skin off my hand. Then I
felt it, a tennis ball size bit of meat lodged deep in her throat. “Help me
Lord”, I muttered continually as I tried in vain to get my fingers behind the
meat and pull it out. I took my hand out, picked her lifeless body up as far as
I could and dropped it on to the ground, over and over again, trying to get air
in her and trying to dislodge the obstruction. No good. “Thank you Jesus” I
prayed trying to impress upon the Lord my great faith that He would help whilst
my shaking hand dripped blood and saliva. I shoved my hand down her throat
again. I felt the meat and once again tried unsuccessfully to pull it out. So I
just sort of mashed it between my fingers and once again withdrew my hand from
her mouth. More thumping of her chest followed. “It’s no good” I desperately
whispered, “just no good!”. “God, PLEASE help me save YOUR animal, thankyou” I
wasn’t going to give up on our dog or God. If only I had known then that He
wasn’t going to give up on our dog or me either.
For the third time I thrust my
hand into her throat, this time down so far I was sure if the meat lodged in
her airways didn’t kill her, my hand down her insides would. I couldn’t believe
it; I still couldn’t dislodge the meat. So I violently squished and squeezed it
as hard as I could and took my battered and bruised hand out again. “Thankyou
Lord” I was still muttering. He must have wished it was me with the blocked
throat I think, so I would shut up! I banged our dog’s chest as hard as I could
and picked her up as high as I could and dropped her. THUMP! She landed on the
brown lawn. Her mouth fell open.
Then I heard it, a kind of popping
sound followed by a faint wheeze. Seconds later, again, the same sound. I
thought if she does regain consciousness would she have brain damage? This
whole saga had been going on for about two and a half minutes since she passed
out.
Suddenly she started a slow,
rhythmical breathing. I didn’t. I was breathing like I had just wrestled King
Kong. Her eyes slowly opened. She was ALIVE!
I felt as someone would feel if
they were just told, “Sir, it WASN’T your wife who was on board that plane that
crashed”. The relief was intense, but I still wasn’t sure if our dog was ok.
She just lay there as if to say, “what happened”. After about five minutes I
thought, “I have to see if she is really ok and has all her faculties”, so I
went to the back door and called her. Instantly, she was on her feet and
trotting sheepishly towards me. I gave her some commands, which she responded
to slowly but correctly, and then she went and got a drink of water. Hours
later she was chomping on an old “small” bone as if nothing had happened.
Out loud I thanked God for his
help and guidance, and for taking notice of an idiot. Was our “daughter’s”
survival luck or coincidence, un-aided by a God who loves and cares for his
children and his creations? I think that’s a
“NO”. I called to our dog and said, “do you know Jesus saved you?” She
trotted over to me, wagged her tail and licked my bruised hand. I think that’s
a “YES”.
_________________