MAYBE THE FARM UPSTATE WON’T BE SO BAD [F, 12-4-20]

CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith & Life for the Years of Winter

MAYBE THE FARM UPSTATE WON’T BE SO BAD [F, 12-4-20]

I think I know now why old people like dogs, even though old people can’t stand up in sleet and snow and rain, when they have to take that dog out to pee and poo; it’s like having a child or grandchild in the family, at a time when everyone in the family is now an adult. A dog is a substitute child.

We no longer have a dog. We did once. We tried to get another one. We went to the shelter. They wouldn’t let us have one, even the blind one with three legs. They said we wouldn’t be able to take care of it because we would soon be going to that farm upstate, where old people go to have a better life, away from the hustle and bustle, but that would be okay, because then we’d have lots of dogs, that were sent there to have a better life, where they could run and play.

When we had a little black dog, though--J. Rodsdale Wagsworth, III—it was like always having a little child in the family, for 18 years, the usual amount of time you have a child at home. Granted, a child with “special needs,” that centered mostly on food, but very lovable. 

Now we have no children or grandchildren, just a bunch of adults who spend the time they once used bouncing on our knees to research “a place for Mom.” [Helen hates those ads on TV. “How come it’s never Dad they’re going to send off to that farm upstate?”]

I love these big people, these adult-like creatures, who have our name and genes and money, even though they have not yet learned to do things the way we think they should. But I miss those children. And that little dog, Waggs.

I surely do hope that “all dogs go to heaven.” That seems to be my only chance for another dog, or substitute child.

John Robert McFarland