Food, Water, Air, and Golden Retrievers

Legislative News by Nelda Holder –

And suddenly the North Carolina General Assembly and state politics in general had no meaning whatsoever to me.

He was a beautiful, happy Golden Retriever boy named Q (yes, Q from Star Trek) who loved his Mama and his black cat Smudge, and when I would come home that happy face was always staring out the bottom window in the front door—often with the cat’s face right beside it.

It can be interesting to examine just what really sustains you on a daily basis. Food. Water. Air. Golden Retrievers. (And their cat companions.)

Of course, family is spread out underneath that as a loving safety net. But family generally is not looking out the door at the sound of your car, waiting to catch a glimpse of you again.

He came into my life when my 17-year-old golden lady, Summer, finally lost the ability to keep her noble heart beating. Summer was a trained therapy dog who used to work with little third-graders up in the mountains outside of Asheville (dogs are not allowed to do that in the Raleigh area, we discovered when we moved back to our home county).

I can tell you story after story about the magical powers of golden retrievers as reading tutors. Such as the when we worked with a young girl who would barely speak, and whose body shook so hard when she tried to read that you could not understand the words—unless … unless she was holding on to Summer. Summer’s calmness gave her the ability to pronounce words. I considered that a miracle.

Or the little wisp of a girl who would lie down on the library floor beside Summer during tutoring hour, and who would read in whispers so soft I could not decipher them even sitting next to her—unless she wrapped her hand up in Summer’s soft, beautiful fur. Then she could enunciate as clearly as a bell.

I was so sad that angel dog had to “retire” when we got to Raleigh, given the new school rules. She would have had several more years of giving children the confidence they needed, had she been able to continue her job. But as a housemate and companion, she certainly kept up her good work standards.

The night Summer died, when I got home around 4 in the morning from the vet hospital I’d taken her to when she suddenly had seizures, I sat down in my easy chair to try to regroup and process what had just happened.

Suddenly, out back of my house in a small copse of trees, a raucous noise broke the late night’s silence. To my great surprise, there was a gathering of owls in those trees and they were yelling quite raucously at each other—something I’d never heard in my life.

Then they just as suddenly stopped and there was total silence. I sat there incredulous for perhaps a full minute, trying to understand what had just happened. But there was to be more.

Out of the silence, at precisely the same time, the gathering began to croon one single note together. A single note, after all that individual squawking.

It was breathtaking. They held it for a good long time, and ceased in unison. From that point—nothing more.

I sat, stunned, for several minutes, trying to comprehend what had just happened. Then my heart told me. Those creatures had just saluted that gorgeous, generous canine being who was passing to spirit that night.

I’d known that dog was special. A bit of a miracle worker as far as her reader kids were concerned … and where my heart was concerned, as well.

And so it was, in the household tradition, that after a period of time for mourning but also simply giving thanks for the blessing that had belonged with me for such a long time, I knew another golden was needed in our lives. I checked with a local golden retriever rescue, where I filed an application that would put me in line to foster dogs or to perhaps adopt one.

Soon, there was need for a foster for a handsome male golden who had been turned in by his owners when they had a new baby.

I volunteered.

Someone brought him to my house.

I took one look, and I still remember my brain transmitting the message: “He’s not going anywhere!”

So the big red dog moved into our house and into our hearts. Curious. Affectionate. Gentle. Trusting. Goofy. Tender-hearted. Sweet as could be. And after a brief getting-to-know-you time, oh so loving and loyal.

And as his sweet face grew paler and grayer and whiter over the next few years, it was such a beacon to come home to. There he’d be, staring out the door glass in hopes that it was his mama.

He loved all the company that came and inherited new aunts and uncles along the way. He became staunch buddies with the cat, and they frequently slept together. Or stared out that window together. But he loved his mama most of all, and she adored him back.

Then one day he seemed less energetic. His appetite diminished. The vet treated him for parasites, but he didn’t get better. A trip to the hospital delivered the horrible news of a large tumor growing directly underneath his dear, sweet heart. Inoperable.

And that’s where this column writer had to make a decision to let him go gently—that sweet face looking straight at her until the end.

And that’s why this column writer doesn’t have a thought in her head right now about state politics. Only the state of her family and household. We’ll pick apart some of the bruising and/or selfish and/or greedy legislation and state politics next month. With the elections coming, there will be plenty of news then.

For now, here is what’s important. Your family, which of course includes pets. And going to VOTE, which of course helps direct your family’s future, this state’s future, and ultimately the country’s future.

And if you have a dog, consider yourself lucky and go give it some extra love right now while you can.

Nelda Holder is the author of The Thirteenth Juror – Ferguson: A Personal Look at the Grand Jury Transcripts.