Accidents Happen!

April 04, 2024

Accidents Happen!

(Stan and "Lukas" the day they met.)

It was an accident! Pure and simple. Completely unintentional. Yet...It happened.

His name is Wilson, but when we first met him, it was Lukas.

To be perfectly honest, it was really my father-in-law's fault - plus the fact that it was just too hot on some of those Monday afternoons in August, to be outdoors feeding the geese and ducks after our weekly lunch. (See link to blog post, "It Was Never About the Lunch", below.)

https://cre8ivewrites.com/f/it-was-never-about-the-lunch

In lieu of engaging with the wildlife outside by the lake we frequented in cooler weather, the Humane Society offered respite from the heat, as well as an opportunity to interact with animals who longed to charm people into taking them home.

There were many weeks in which we would walk into the Pound, choose a dog who looked like it could use a bit of attention, request the use of a "playroom", and gain a new friend for an hour or so. I watched while Stan poured love into a different dog each week, exclaiming the same thing every time:

"I've never held a dog before! What do I do?",

when, in fact, we had just been there the previous Monday, where he had both held and played with these loving and lonely canines.

As much as I adore dogs, my joy was in watching Stan with the animals. He let them lick his hands and face - something he likely would not have allowed before Alzheimer's became his "new normal". He held them on his lap and rubbed the undersides of their chins, all the while, smiling and seeming pleased with these warm interactions as the dogs eagerly wagged their tails in gratitude.

One particular Monday, there seemed to be a shortage of available dogs from which to choose, but there was one who was barking incessantly, as if to say:

"Please don't overlook me! I know that my ears are too big for my head, and I'm far from the cutest dog you've played with here, but what have you got to lose for an hour of your time?"

I can answer that question in two words: My heart.

I lost my heart that day, because it was stolen by the scenario that played out in front of me, beginning with:

"I've never held a dog before! What do I do?"

Luckily for Stan, "Lukas" took care of the rest.

I couldn't look away. Stan didn't have to remember a name, a prior conversation, whether or not he, himself, was still in grade school or the fact that he had been a prominent architect in St. Louis for his entire adult life. All he had to do was love this pup who had been found roaming the streets of Riverview Gardens.

"Lukas" was unencumbered by the fact that Stan no longer made memories, but rather, lived every moment as if it were a brand new experience, regardless of whether or not it actually was. "Lukas" was unaffected by Stan's repeating the same questions or statements to him. The sound of his gentle voice was enough to bring comfort to a dog who just wanted to be loved.

Returning Lukas to his cold metal "cell" wasn't easy. As I looked back at him, his eyes pleaded:

"Really! I'm sorry about the ears! Can't we overlook them?"

Later that afternoon, I brought my daughter back to meet "Lukas".

A brief conversation ensued, in which she asked her dad:

"Don't you think you'd learn to love him?"

He responded:

"I'm sure I'd learn to love him."

We interpreted that as the "go-ahead" we sought, and returned to the Pound:

"You're back! You reconsidered the little issue with my ears!"

Paperwork completed, we legally adopted "Lukas", got to know him for a few days, and renamed him Wilson.

Stan had no recollection that Wilson was the dog with whom he had become so enamored on that hot August day at the Pound. Yet, Wilson remembered Stan and greeted him with exuberance at every visit.

When Stan left us, there was a hole in our collective hearts too big to fill. Wilson is a reminder of the happiness that a rescued mutt brought to a man who may have lost his memories, but not his ability to love. Not only that, it also demonstrated that even in the midst of unrelenting cognitive loss, he brought delight to a dog who had been abused and needed to learn how to trust again. Wilson had, indeed, chosen the right person in whom to place his precarious faith.

Some months later, Facebook reminded me that it was National Dog Day. I wanted to honor "our" story, along with the man whose heart remained kind in the midst of a vicious disease, and who was responsible for our "accidental" adoption of a dog who needed a home:

On a sweltering day in August, When the air didn't blow or stir, We needed reprieve from the heat, So, we ended up where you were.

With my father-in-law by my side, Thrilled with this place we had found, We ambled towards the doorway, And walked ourselves into the Pound.

We searched the cages, hoping to find The friendliest dog of all. I knew that after they played, It's something Stan wouldn't recall.

I guarded him, lovingly, guiding his feet - Each moment, a brand new start. I knew the disease had stolen his mind, But never his gentle heart.

Your bark stood out above the rest, A street dog who used to roam, No pedigreed champion, full-blooded hound, Just a mutt who wanted a home.

We answered your call and entered a room In which you brought to play. The joy on his face, as you loved his warm touch, Is why we have you today.

You made him so happy, so you were adopted. A freight train or motorcade couldn't have stopped it. He's gone now. The void swells. I remember that room. No doubt in my mind as to who rescued whom.