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February 2002 Storyteller Collaboration The Days of Whine and Moses by Sabine N. I found Moses on my bike ride through the park on a clear spring day when buds and blossoms validate a new beginning. A low moan and the shudder of a small shrub caught my attention. Cautiously, I approached – and there was Moses. Small and shivering, he was nestled in mud and greenery, brown eyes staring soulfully into mine. I tentatively let him sniff my palm. I couldn’t tell what type of puppy he was but I guessed a mutt. His nose and tail wiggled when I held him for closer inspection. He was thin and small, probably the runt of a litter. I placed him carefully in my front carrier and rode to the vet. Other than being under-nourished and rather filthy, Moses was fine. “You almost went up the river, eh Pal?” I crooned, bathing him. His eyes blinked and he yipped in wise agreement. Right then, the name ‘Moses’ came to mind. Drying Moses with a fluffy towel, I saw the shades of brown in his coat, from wheat to golden together with touches of gray and white. The vet guessed he was part Labrador and part German Shepherd. As I watched him eat, pink tongue lapping up every little speck, I wondered why I hadn’t gone straight to the Humane Society. But did I want to give Moses up? He’d tugged my heart strings the moment our eyes met. For the next 2 weeks, I ran an ad in the local paper. Thankfully, there was no response. Nor did I see any lost and found dog posters. Moses and I got along famously. I bought him a fancy leash, some silly puppy toys and rawhide chews. The only problem I had was on his first night after I’d made him a box bed with a blanket and pillow in a kitchen corner. The minute I I fell into bed, Moses whined. I tried to ignore the noise. It didn’t work. I hauled the box with Moses in it to the upstairs hallway. Once my head hit the pillow, the whining began anew. I turned on the radio. It didn’t work. Finally, I carried Moses and his makeshift bed into my room and placed him by the closet. “Good night.” I said earnestly. My eyelids fluttered shut and Moses began to whine. Now what? Is he afraid of the dark? But when I turned on the light, I saw him watching me, his tongue hanging out, his mouth grinning. He let out a baby bark and stood up, tail wagging furiously. I lifted him and he licked my nose. “Now listen here, Moses.” I began seriously. “Night is for sleeping.” His little legs pumped as though he were trying to walk on air. He was lonely. I had only one choice: I placed him on my bed and both of us finally slept. Moses grew into a big healthy dog. He almost consumed more of the food budget than I did. But most of all, Moses was a friend. Loyal and true. Completely without judgment or prejudice. He was good, gentle, friendly and playful. When he was almost 12 years old, I faced the hardest decision of my life: to have Moses put down. Moses was sick. He lived more on medication than food. By his sad, tired eyes, I knew he was in pain. I felt his pain. Eventually we all have to cross that river but both Moses and I are glad that we met and shared a life before his final trip. In a way, we’d rescued each other on that clear spring day. |