Joe The Dog

 

Only recently has old Joe lost his eyesight completely. His life story is untold, kept only in his little head. My sister, Myra, found him walking down the middle of a country road—beaten up, broken, missing part of one foot, with a broken jaw and most of his teeth gone. Even his tail was broken, and he was blind in one eye. At the time, I had a hard, somewhat cynical view of Joe. I thought he should be taken to a humane shelter, where they could care for him and do what they do for old dogs in such terrible shape. But Myra and my niece, Harper, opened the car door, scooped up the tiny, shaggy mess, and brought him home. They called my brother, Bill, and asked him if he could tend to Joe for the remainder of his life. Bill agreed, despite my skeptical attitude.

 

At first, Joe wasn’t sure about the new arrangement. He was given a bath and food, taken to a vet, and given a fluffy, warm bed. But Joe had been through so much cruelty in his life that he thought he was dreaming and would wake up in a trash heap as usual. Day after day, he found soft food to eat. He was carried over rocky paths—painful for Joe with only three decent feet. But still, he was treated like he’d won some kind of lottery. A sweater, a fluffy bed, toys, treats, meals, and clean water.

 

Finally, the broken tail began to wag. Joe started to realize he wasn’t dreaming. With his tongue dangling through his broken teeth, hanging to one side, he opened his one good eye wide and smiled the happiest, most grateful smile you could imagine. His response to every gift seemed to ask, “For me?”

 

He played games he’d never played before. He could bark, growl, and pretend to be a Rottweiler guarding a junkyard. Bill would go along with Joe’s adventures, pretending to be the thief or the robber. In every game, Bill let Joe win.

 

As I mentioned, Joe lost his sight in his good eye about three days ago. At first, he looked around and blinked, hoping that maybe the lights were just out. He bumped into obstacles, disoriented. But, like with his broken tail, lost foot, broken jaw, and missing teeth, Joe accepted it. This was just another thing to live with. I visited him last night. He barked when I walked in. I spoke, and his tail nearly wagged. “I guess you heard,” he seemed to say. “It’s no big deal. I can out-smell any bloodhound. Eyesight’s overrated.”

 

I held him and pet him for a few minutes, then took him outside. I let him brush against me as he walked in a small area. Every time he touched me, his broken tail wagged. He didn’t seem bitter. “Bear with me,” he seemed to say. “It takes me a little while to figure out where I am.” And then he wagged his tail and smiled, his tongue hanging out through the big gap between a few teeth in his lower jaw.

 

Joe is old—probably between 12 and 15 years old. Joe is frail, and it takes so much just for him to get around and get comfortable. He has to gum his soft food, but Joe is happy. He has the assurance that Bill will be home, that he will have a good meal, a warm bed, a bath, and a big, fluffy towel. He may not see, but he has visions. He has peace.

 

Joe’s life, once marked by neglect and cruelty, is now full of kindness. He may not understand everything around him, but he knows love when he feels it. Joe would say what Fanny Crosby once said:

“The merciful God has put His hands over my eyes, and shut out from me the sight of many instances of cruelty, bitter unkindness, and misfortune.”

Fanny went on to write “Blessed Assurance”—perhaps Joe’s favorite song.

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