The Dog Lady

"Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me." I'm sure all of us remember that rhyme from childhood, and many of us have probably chanted it at some point in our lives. I've often wondered where the rhyme originated, and I've also wondered if the person who originally coined the lines actually believed the second part. The truth is that words can and do hurt ... a lot at times. In fact, I personally would prefer to take a physical beating any day over a verbal one. Physical wounds heal, but hurtful words can linger forever in the depths of a person's heart and soul. I still remember words that have been hurled at me over the years ... "stupid" ... "ugly" ... "fat" ... "stutterer" ... "lazy." I've been labeled many times in my lifetime, and trust me, words most certainly can hurt deeply. As much as words can hurt, they can also heal and restore and encourage and build up. Though I've been tagged with hurtful names down through the years, I've also been on the receiving end of more than a few kind, loving and caring monikers as well.

I haven't been out on the walking trail in several days because of the reaction I had to the cortisone injection in my shoulder last week ... I have done well to move from my bed to the couch due to the intense pain. My lack of walking also means that Ollie the wiener dog hasn't gotten to walk either, and he was bouncing off the walls (or off of Julie, as the case may be) this morning. After an hour or so of him harassing Julie (who likes to wake up and eat and then nap for a while before she's ready to play), my big dog gazed at me with a soulful "Do something with him," look. Deciding that I could hurt as easily sitting across the street at the playground as I could trying to get comfortable at home, I managed to hook Ollie's leash to his collar, hold it in my left hand and walk across the street to the picnic tables next to the playground.

Ollie's leash is a retractable one that extends for 25 feet, so I was able to sit at a picnic table and let him run around exploring and looking for food that had been dropped on the ground. We had been there for about 15 minutes when I heard a little boy's excited voice saying, "Daddy, Daddy! It's the dog lady, Daddy! She's back! Can we go say hi?" All it took was the nod of his father's head, and the little guy ran as fast as he could to get to me and Ollie. I stood up because I didn't want him to touch my shoulder, and he wrapped his little arms around my waist and hugged me tightly. "Where have you been, dog lady? Me and my daddy have been looking for you ... I missed you and Oliver Chance." By this time, the little boy's father had arrived, and I explained that my shoulder was hurt and I had to take some time off from walking. The boy's sweet eyes looked into mine as he asked, "But you're back now? You're going to be walking again? You and Oliver?" I told the little boy that I hoped to be out walking again before too long, and he said, "That's good ... I miss you, dog lady." Then with another hug for me and some kisses for Oliver, the little boy and his dad went along on their walk, the little guy turning and waving at me until they were out of sight.

The little boy and his dad couldn't see, but tears filled my eyes as they began to walk away, and they will never know how deeply their short visit this morning touched me. Thoughts poured through my mind as quickly as the tears streamed down my face. So many times over the last months, I've wondered if anyone would miss me if I was gone ... so many times, I've wondered if anyone would even notice if I simply ran away from home and never came back. Those very thoughts, that questioning, filled my mind even last night as I laid in bed contemplating a return visit to the emergency room to try to get some relief from my pain, and I rose this morning feeling more alone than I ever have before. And then ... a little boy and his dad ... a little boy who doesn't know me at all ... wrapped his arms around me and said, "I miss you, dog lady."

As I stood to slowly walk across the street with Ollie, I thought about the labels I've been tagged with down through the years ... and I decided that I'm more than OK with being the "dog lady" to the people, old and young alike, whom I've met out on my trail. My trail, I thought ... my trail that has become such a big part of my life ... my trail that found me because of the needs and the wounds of another furry friend.

The dog lady ... the dog lady ... yep, I'm definitely OK with that.