Angel in Disguise

“Lisa, what are you doing?” my mom asked sternly from behind me.
Quickly, I hung up the wall phone in the kitchen and tried to hide the classified ad in the newspaper in front of me by draping my body over the kitchen table. I had been caught trying to make arrangements to adopt a dog. Mom had strictly warned me not to do such a thing without her input and guidance. Given evidence and circumstances, I had to admit and face the truth. I hung my head and sighed.
“Oh, Lisa! What did I tell you about making phone calls?” Mom asked.
“But Mom, I need a dog!” I shouted, unable to contain my frustration, anger, sadness, and fear inside any longer.
It had been nine months since Ralph, our faithful German shepherd had passed away from cancer of the stomach; nine long, hard months with my teenage mind trying to find myself in a world I did not understand or even want to be in at times. Nine months of agony in my heart and soul trying to move on, but unable to gain any traction in the depressed state of my being. I had hit rock bottom, totally out of ideas, energy, or hope.
“Lisa, come here,” Mom said, reaching out to wrap her arms around me the way she had done since I was little.
I felt her chin on top of my head as she leaned down over me. Never intent on disappointing my mother, I somehow had acquired a knack for doing just that—disappointing her to the point where it hurt both of us. I so very much wanted life to be normal again with no pain from sadness, no loneliness or depression to derail my maturing, and a canine friend to greet me when I came home from school and sit with me on Friday nights and weekends when all the other kids were out socializing and having fun.
Sighing, I said, “Can you please call Patty and see if she has a contact person from her dog show network who might be able to help us find a dog? Please? Please, Mom. Can you PLEASE?”
Patty was one of Mom’s best friends. She was also a dog lover and dog show enthusiast. I remember going to her house as a youngster and seeing all the trophies and ribbons she had won with her Shiatzu dogs. Patty also knew grief and loss, for she had lost several canine companions and her husband to different types of illness. I reasoned that if anyone knew how deeply the pain of loss cut, it was Patty, and I was putting a lot of faith into her friendship with Mom to help us.
Drawing a deep breath, Mom replied, “Okay. I’ll call her tomorrow and see if she can help us find another dog.”
A sense of slight relief came over my tense body. Mom always knew best and always did what she said. Patty was a good person, always willing to help no matter what the situation was at hand. Together, they made a great pair and offered a ray of hope to my teenage soul.
The next day, I fidgeted anxiously in school through all my classes. On the bus ride home, I stared out the window hoping and praying as I tapped my foot up and down on the floor. Exiting the bus, I ran to the house, opened the garage door, and burst through the cellar door. The house was quiet, a type of quiet I had grown to despise. No tail wagging, tongue licking greeting from a dog, no smiling eyes with stars in them anxious to greet me, no happy barking to announce my arrival. Only silence that cut into the soul stood waiting with a sting that left a scar as deep as the Grand Canyon.
Frustrated, I changed clothes and went for a run around the property. This had become my ritual since losing Ralph. It was my outlet, my way to try to deal with how I felt inside and the events of the day. At first, the run was a few laps around the yard. That worked for a time, but then started to feel inadequate. I increased the number of laps and extended the boundaries to include the field next to our house. Eh every other day routine soon became every day and sometimes twice a day on weekends. Lately, all I wanted to do was run. I reasoned it was a healthy escape, one that would not lead me to trouble. The problem with my reasoning was it failed to be realistic in the resources available, which led to lack of time to properly accomplish all the tasks and responsibilities I had at this point in life.
Mom came home shortly after I had finished running. She insisted we eat dinner with my dad and sister and clean up the dishes before calling Patty. I squirmed the whole time during dinner and paced the kitchen in circles as I helped Mom with drying the dishes, my chore since I was old enough to hold a dish and not drop it on the kitchen floor.
Finally, Mom put the dish pan away, wiped her hands in a kitchen towel, and made the call. I held my breath as a leaned back on two legs of the kitchen chair across the table from Mom as she dialed the phone. Mom motioned for me to stop leaning back on the chair, for she always feared me falling backward into the wall. I stood up and paced as Mom greeted Patty and they made small talk for the first few minutes. Turning around and around in the small kitchen, I started to get very impatient. I rolled my hand in a circling motion to signal to Mom to get to the point of the call.