Cheerios, String Cheese, Cookies, and Prayer
Thirteen years ago, Shelley and I set out on a Saturday morning in October, with the names and addresses of five Golden Retriever breeders in the Yorba Linda/Anaheim Hills area. At our first stop we found a male and female, and since we were only looking for a female, thought we should at least check this one out. Long story short, the 10 week-old female ended up in Shelley’s arms, in our car, and in our hearts forever.
We named her Amber, appropriate for the color of her coat, and set off for home with anticipation for what was to come. Having told Shelley that I just didn’t want our new friend to see our bed as a place to hang out, only a week later one of us was found to have invited Amber up on the bed (oh, I guess that was me), and so it went until she couldn’t make it on her own. She never missed sleeping on the floor at the foot of the bed, except for the times when she ventured down to a spare bedroom that had a daybed placed directly under a window. She loved to lie on the bed, place her chin on the sill, and watch cottontails, and an occasional coyote, roam the neighborhood. On many an occasion, I went down to “her” room, pulled a blanket over both of us, and just enjoyed her warmth and loving nature. We had a long-standing ritual that involved Amber watching for me to move toward the bed, temporarily out of her sight, and in a minute or two she would come to my side of the bed waiting for three or four small pieces of milk bone. Indeed, I had been trained well. Amber’s favorite words were “go” and “ride,” and we often played a game with her, starting out slowly with “do you want to” . . . followed by “go,” at which point her ears were up, waiting for the next slowly delivered words “for“ . . . “a” . . . “ride.” By that time she would be at the back door waiting to head out for the ride, which oftentimes was just for her.
At the end of an evening, just as the television and lights were turned off downstairs, Amber knew it was time to go upstairs. Whoever went up the stairs first, Amber would only go half way up, and wait for the other to follow.
The title, “Cheerios, String Cheese, Cookies, and Prayer,” needs to be explained. We trained Amber by giving her the smallest reward we could think of, hence the Cheerios. The last thing Amber ate the night she left us was a handful of cereal, and small pieces of string cheese. Over the years, she could be in another room, hear the sound of a piece of string cheese being opened, and be at our feet in a matter of seconds.
The “cookies” come into play because Shelley is the most prolific producer of chocolate chip cookies this side of Mrs. Fields. The process involved us eating the chocolate chips out of the cookies and feeding the rest to Amber. Amber ate her share of “people” food as well, and what a joy it was to be eating dinner and have her place her head on one of our knees, look up with those big eyes, just waiting for a handout.
Most important in our story is the role of prayer. About four years ago, Amber had an episode that concerned us, during which time she was listless and just laid around, wasn’t eating much, and took considerable coaxing to even go over to the park. She had been diagnosed with hip dysplasia when she was a puppy, and that seemed to be at least part of the problem. Many times over the next four years I found myself on the floor, placed my hands on her, asking the Lord to restore health to our precious gift.
We didn’t “own” Amber, she owned us. We have a tight neighborhood that encompasses about fifteen homes, and most of us know each other by first name, including many of the teenagers who were just 1-3 years old when Amber arrived. Adults and children have dropped by to say what Amber meant to them, how she’ll be missed, with hugs to express that relationship. Halloween has always been an “Amber Alert” event at our house, with kids temporarily by-passing the candy to come into the house to pet her, so that was an obvious absence with Halloween falling just two days after losing her.
We’ve spent the better part of a week holding each other, shedding our share of tears, remembering things that reminded us of Amber, and even avoiding going home because of the absence we knew would greet us. We’re better now, and we’ll be okay, but will always reflect on how great an impact Amber had on us, and so many others.
Those of you who know us best, also know that the “pitter patter” of little feet (or paws), or for that matter the sounds that accompany children and grandchildren occupying our home, is sorely missed when they’ve gone. Blessings and fond memories to all.
We’re sharing this with you Dr. Forslund, because in some way you were part of the Amber experience, and as sort of a catharsis for us as well. You were so awesome from the moment you entered the house. Our decision to put Amber to sleep was made in one day so we were rather in shock when you arrived. You understood our pain, you spoke lovingly to us and to Amber and gave us all the time we needed to be with Amber to the end. We can never thank you enough for your professional compassion.
Mike and Shelley McGuire
Irvine