Seeking the Light

Our little grand-dog Shep spends a lot of time at our house lately. Since his birth as the runt of the litter over 8 years ago, his health gradually started to deteriorate.  He developed some serious liver problems, diabetes, and a sudden parathyroid failure that almost cost him his life.  He's on a daily regimen of ten different medications and supplements--some he must take 3 or 4 times a day.  On top of all that, he went blind.

His little spirit, however, is undaunted by his physical challenges.  It's adorable to watch how he adapts and he's an inspiration to me every day.  He's still the same loving, spunky, affectionate little guy he's always been; though we notice an increasing desire on his part for a feeling of security by being close to grandma, in particular.  Even so, we have pillows and pads on all the corners and furniture legs; and we watch him ever-so-carefully to be sure all his medical conditions stay balanced and in check. Our veterinarian is on speed-dial.

Shep doesn't get a lot of time outside unless one of the humans in his family has him on a leash.  The leash and harness are absolutely necessary.  There are just too many ways a blind dog can get into trouble.  So it's a big deal when we can take him somewhere like a park and just let him go, guiding him with verbal commands. He trusts us implicitly to warn him of impending danger.  And, while not always the most obedient of our canine family members (he's definitely spoiled), he listens very well to specific words like "stop" and "wait." Somehow he understands that those important words are meant to protect him.

When the house is cool, I've noticed an interesting thing about Shep. When it's time for a rest (and even the spunkiest little guys like their naps), he'll seek out a lap.  If no humans are able to hold him at that moment, he will find in a nice sunny spot on a rug near a window. The world is pretty dark to him all the time.  He can't see the sun.  But he can feel it. And he knows enough to travel the cool hallways of the house until he finds a nice warm spot to lay down. Whether in the entry way, in the hall or on the front stairs in the late afternoon, he finds just the right spot and lays down with his little face in the light as if he's bathing in it.

The other day I saw him wandering the house and walked around the corner to see him laying in the sun near the front door. Before I took his photo (above), I stood watching him and thought about his sightless journey to get there.  I was reminded about what I'd been taught about the term "faith."  We travel through life not knowing exactly what lies ahead nor what is always in our best interest; but when we find something that makes us feel warm and secure, we stop and bask in its light.  Like little Shep seeking his place in the sunshine, we can't always see the light.  If we listen carefully, a gentle voice will help protect us and guide us to it.  We will know when we've arrived because we'll feel it. And when we feel it, we'll know it's good. It makes us feel happy and secure. So we stay. And rest.