Walk On

It's no secret to those of you who've been reading along with me for the last couple of years as I've chronicled my life in this blog that I've become a dedicated walker. I walk almost every day; in fact, just about the only days I don't walk are days when I'm too sick to put one foot in front of the other. I love my walks on the trail ... many, many days, those outside walks are the best part of my day. If my heart is aching, my walks ease the pain. If my spirit is wounded, my walks soothe the hurt. If my body is weary, my walks infuse me with energy. Those walks mean a ton to me, even more so since I made a promise last November to a precious wiener dog as he drew his last few breaths cradled in my arms ... I promised my little J.R. that I would walk on without him ... I promised him that I would walk on.

For those of you who are new to this blog, I began walking because J.R. had an injured spine caused from abuse he had suffered before he came to live with me. Those walks with J.R. caused me to eventually be diagnosed with diabetes, and I will never forget the day my doctor told me not to ever underestimate that J.R. saved my life. If you go back to my posts from 2010, you'll find many that talk about my time on the trail with J.R., about the journey he and I shared as we walked and talked and lived and loved together. Many times when I am on the trail with Oliver, the wiener dog who now shares life with me and Julie the Lab, someone I talk to or something I see makes me think of J.R. And a lot of those times, my eyes fill with tears ... I love Ollie very much, but I still miss J.R. and perhaps I always will. For all the times I've thought of him on the trail, an event last night will most definitely go into the folder in my heart that is labeled "My Little Fat Buddy."

Many of you will recall stories I posted of how J.R. was frightened of many things ... thunder, rain, other dogs, the vacuum cleaner, the broom ... and you will recall that he was especially frightened of other people. He adored me, but I often thought he would have been exceptionally happy if he never had to interact with any other human. He would go out of his way to avoid walking near other folks on the trail, quite the opposite from Ollie who knows no strangers. One night as J.R. and I walked, we came upon a group of young men who were mentally and physically challenged out for a stroll with their caregivers. As we approached, several of them began to clap and wave at J.R., who immediately got behind me with his tail tucked between his legs. When a couple of the young men asked if they could pet my dog, I cautiously agreed and lifted J.R. into my arms. I could tell that he was nervous as the group gathered around him laughing and smiling and patting him on the head. But as they took turns petting him, J.R. seemed to understand that the young men meant him no harm and that touching his furry little head and back was bringing them great joy. I will forever remember that night and how by the time J.R. and I moved on, he was wagging his tail and licking the hands of the young men as they loved on him.

I hadn't seen the young men on the trail again since that night almost a year ago, and I've often wondered if they had moved or if something prevented them from coming out for a walk. And then last night as Ollie and I walked, I saw them coming toward us on the trail. Actually, Ollie saw them before I did, and he began to run ahead of me, tail wagging, ears perked up, more than ready to meet some new friends. I heard one of the men exclaim as he clapped his hands, "Look, look, look ... it's a hot dog!!! Oh, boy, oh, boy, oh, boy ... it's a hot dog!!!" I pulled Ollie back on his leash and leaned over to lift him into my arms, but he wouldn't have it and he wriggled and squirmed until I put him back down on the trail. As the young men swarmed around him laughing and petting him, Ollie rolled over on his back for them to rub his tummy. Look at him, I thought ... he's loving this ... he's simply loving this.

Tears filled my eyes as I thought about the night the young men patted J.R., about how very different Oliver is from J.R. So different, I thought, so different and yet both of them touched these young men in a special way. Even though I fought as hard as I could to hold back the tears, they ran down my cheeks and dropped on the pavement in front of me. One of the young men looked up at me and saw that I was crying, and he tugged on the sleeve of the boy next to him. The two of them stood up and wrapped their arms around me, and one of them said, "Don't cry, lady, don't cry. Don't be sad, I'll give you a big hug. Hugs make tears go away. Hugs and apple pie always make tears go away." I couldn't help but smile at the sincerity in his voice as I wiped the tears from my face. "If you want to come to our house, we have apple pie and you can have a piece, can't she Joe? You already got two hugs and now you need some pie. Then you won't be sad anymore," he said earnestly. Joe smiled at me and said, "Maybe the nice lady can come over another night, Timmy. It's getting late tonight, though, too late for pie." I agreed with Joe that it was too late for a visit, and Timmy and the other young men hugged me and Ollie before they went on their way. As I watched them lumber down the trail, Timmy stopped and turned around and shouted, "Don't forget the apple pie, lady! Don't forget!"

I cried and cried as Ollie and I finished our walk ... as I walked on ... with my mind jumping back and forth in thinking about J.R. and thinking about the young men. I've thought all day about Timmy's words ... don't forget ... don't forget. I promise I won't forget, Timmy ... I won't ever forget.