The Obedience Lessons: An Uncommon Tale of Spiritual Healing

By Jaime Vos

A visitor's arrived at my father's house.
He's temperamental, rebellious, ill-behaved,
and in short, making a mess of things.

And no, it's not the dog causing the problems.

Unemployed, estranged from my family and on the verge of a complete breakdown, I agreed to stay with my dad while trying to sort things out.

I wasn't expecting to share the house with an adopted schnauzer.

Just when anger and depression pushed me to the end of my rope, a pestering pooch convinced me to attend a weekly obedience class. The lessons were tough. Awareness, discipline, and most important of all, a willing spirit were needed in order to heel.

I was always a lousy student. Turning my life around under the circumstances would require nothing short of a miracle.

"The Obedience Lessons: An Uncommon Tale of Spiritual Healing" is the touching story of a man, a rather annoying dog, and how they saved each other.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Aug 4, 2017
• ISBN: 9781543909036

Book preview

Prologue

I had discovered the dog earlier that morning while running to the field. Its body lay beside the road, its fur soaked a dark red. I remembered red was bad. The color reminded me of that day last spring when Walt had stained the shed. The old man warned me about the smelly red stuff in the can. He kept telling me to leave, that it would make me sick. I thought back to how I hadn’t listened, how I had wanted to help. Walt was right, though. After staying around too long and watching him paint, my head began to hurt. The old man was smart about those kinds of things. That’s why I ran back and told him about the dog.

I found him working under the hood of his truck with the radio blaring. As I rambled on about the animal and tried catching my breath, the newscast interrupted. Walt held up his hand before wiping it on a greasy rag. He then scowled as he listened to the story they were telling about some place called Vietnam.

My legs trembled and my chest hurt. I grew impatient.

He’s not moving, I said trying to get his attention. Walt continued listening to the news and pinching the sweat out of his eyes. I searched his weathered face until I couldn’t stand it any longer. I need you to come with me, I pleaded. The man’s eyes glazed over as he stared off into the distance. I’d seen him do that before when he was thinking real hard.

Just then, the news finished.

Stay here, he said, then began walking down the hill.

I remembered standing there confused, my head pounding. I couldn’t wait. I had to do something. Why did Walt leave me? I panicked. Just like that day at the shed, I disobeyed the man.

As I approached the dog’s body once again, the sun blistered the tar-and-gravel road and the hot wind carried a sickening smell. The odor hung in the air like the circling crows, warning me, like the red stain had, that something here was dangerous. My stomach tensed and I held my breath. I already felt bad about not waiting for my friend. I thought about waiting for him now, but the sight of the animal drew me nearer for some reason. The cawing birds now taunted me as I paced in the road. I couldn’t look away, I had to be sure. I couldn’t wait for Walt anymore. I summoned my courage, covered my mouth, and inched forward.

The ragged animal looked like a grotesque carnival prize left abandoned. Its gray tongue drooped out of a mouth stretched open as if screaming in agony. As I stared at the twisted expression, I struggled to breathe, my heart pounding in my chest. When the stench became too much, I turned away, wiped my eyes, and accepted what I already knew. The dog in the ditch was the stray I’d befriended only weeks before.

Walt pushed an old wheelbarrow up the hill, its squeaky axle scolding me for running off. As I stepped away from the ditch, he let the rusty wagon drop, stretched his back, and pulled an old white rag out of his pocket. Missouri humidity filled the lungs, threatening to drown a man. Walt coughed to the side before mopping his brow.

I tried to keep him from running off the other night, I lied.

The old man held the cloth over his mouth. He then looked up and down the road before speaking.

Head back to the shed, he mumbled. Grab the shovel.

What happened? I asked hoping Walt would explain. He remained silent. I stared at the flies covering the animal’s tongue while the man scanned the horizon. Even though the smell wafted past my face, I braved the question again.

What happened to him, do you think?

The man spit sideways before stepping between me and the ditch. Looks like a car got him, he said wiping his mouth. Now do like I told you and meet me down by the henhouse.

I already knew what had killed the dog, but there was more to it than that. I wanted to know how death worked; I needed to know why it left my insides so knotted up.

Walt grabbed an old army blanket out of the barrow.

Dogs don’t last long ‘round here, he added, throwing it over the body. Run on to the shed now.

The gathering swarm in my stomach began rising into my throat. I now worried that Walt and the dog might disappear somehow. Nothing made sense. I didn’t know why I thought this, but I imagined myself alone in the middle of the road without ever getting any answers. It felt I was abandoning the dog too. I couldn’t bring myself to leave.

Walt put his hand on my shoulder and began walking me down the hill. Make quick and go grab the shovel.

I didn’t like being dismissed like that, but the man had given me an order and I knew there would be no disobeying. I stole another glance at the body before the old man’s strong hand nudged me forward.

Go on now.

Road tar gripped the soles of my sneakers until I reached the bottom of the hill and cut through the open field. The dog and I had run here many times before. I stopped to remember the moment we had found each other here.

The mangy animal circled me that day from a distance, trying to judge me as friend or foe. In spite of its drooping tongue and matted fur, the timid creature’s eyes begged for connection. I wanted to approach the animal but didn’t want to scare it away. We stood staring at each other for several minutes, not sure of the other’s intentions.

When I headed off in the other direction, I moved slowly, not wanting to leave him behind. I smiled when the lost-looking thing followed. By the time we reached the house, I had finally worked up the nerve to rub the animal’s scrawny sides. When a happy tail wagged its approval, I dismissed the idea he belonged to anyone. The dirt-faced country boy and the mongrel dog were kindred spirits. Our imperfections bonded us.

I suddenly remembered Walt and the shovel.

I lingered a moment more, imagining the dog and me together like before. I looked out over the field, hoping to capture that feeling again, but only felt a sense of emptiness. The truth was that the stray was dead and nothing would ever bring him back.

I brushed the hair out of my face, shook off the memory, and kept moving like I’d been told.

Walt’s lopsided house sat perched on the opposite hill, its crumbling steps descending into a mechanical graveyard of old cars and trucks. For as long as I could remember, the clunkers had rested there in the thorny weeds, their fallen fenders and flat tires taking root. I kept hoping Walt would see their potential, that he would fix them up someday, and that he might ask me to help. I wanted the old man to see their beauty like I did, but he never seemed interested.

Beating a path through the tall grass, I finally made my way past the rusted relics and eventually threw open the shed door. After shooing away angry hornets, I peered into the darkness. When my eyes adjusted, shafts of light between the barn wood guided me through a maze of motors, tools, and tires. I spotted a familiar object in the corner and gagged from the smell of red stain baking in the heat. Holding my breath, I gripped the spade with both hands and raced back out to find the old man.

Raising the shovel high overhead, I sloshed through the creek toward the henhouse. By the time Walt arrived, I’d picked a spot near the coop where the soil was soft and easy to scrape with my shoe. The man offered no opinion about my choice. He set the wheelbarrow down, wiped his face once again, and took the spade to begin the task. As he made the first plunge, I turned to stare at the blanket covering the dog’s body.

Our time together had been so short. It was only after I had pleaded with my mother that she agreed to let the stray hang around in the first place. There were conditions; the dirty animal stayed outdoors with only its fleas and ticks to keep it company. I resented that we couldn’t always be together. I tossed in bed every night, worrying he might not be there in the morning. I felt even worse when I couldn’t come up with a name for him. I settled on calling the mangy mutt Dog. Not original, but enough to make him mine. Unfortunately, he never answered to it.

When we ran through the field, the animal often bolted off after rabbits, running into the distance, and leaving me to call after him. Despite finding myself alone, I forgave him each time. There was nothing I could do to change him. I wanted Dog to be loyal, never to leave me, to prove that we were truly meant to be together. But in some part of myself, I also knew the animal was a stray, and that stray dogs ran. As I watched Walt work, I realized the dog and I had never really bonded after all.

The man’s boot drove the spade down, scraping into the rocky soil. He pulled back each time and tossed it to the side, a rhythmic motion that sounded a lot like sadness. As I lost myself in his movements, I struggled to understand the finality of death.

The dog was gone forever. Nothing would change that.

I rocked back and forth on my heels, my arms crossed. I shouldn’t have trusted the hope I once felt.

When the recent thunderstorm had scared the animal off, I shut my eyes and wished real hard for Dog to come back. Some folks may have called it praying, I wasn’t sure, but right now it didn’t matter. It didn’t work. Maybe I hadn’t done it right, or maybe no one was listening.

I continued watching the old man dig. He stopped occasionally to stretch his back and wipe his face, and after some time, I noticed his shirt was drenched in sweat. I felt bad for Walt. He was trying to help, but it all seemed so pointless.

I cringed at seeing the wheelbarrow now covered in a black mass of buzzing flies. I wanted to run but my chest hurt.

I needed to share my sorrow with someone, but no one ever explained to me how to do that. I wanted desperately to talk to Walt, but I didn’t know how. I worried he might think me a sissy.

I then thought about praying again, but decided against it. Besides, only crazy people and fools talked to something that wasn’t there.

After the better part of the morning, the sun disappeared behind the clouds and the winds shifted cool. Walt planted the shovel in the mound of dirt and grabbed both ends of the blanket. As he swung the body into the hole, the swarm of flies scattered in every direction.

You don’t have to stay for this part, kiddo, he said, pulling out a cigarette. I’m just gonna throw all this back in.

I wasn’t sure if he had given me an order or not. I didn’t want to disobey Walt, but I couldn’t just abandon the dog and pretend like nothing had happened. My mind raced trying to find the words that would make everything alright.

What about your blanket? I asked.

The old man took a long drag and blew smoke.

We can’t take it back, he said.

I thought it strange he was willing to let it go like that, but Walt knew best and I let the subject drop.

Dark clouds cast a shadow over us. The old man paused before flipping his cigarette into the shallow grave and craning his neck.

Looks like it’s gonna come down hard here in a minute, he said. You want to say something before I cover him up?

Did Walt want me to say some kind of prayer? I’d heard my grandmother talk out loud to God a few times, but I didn’t want to do that in front of the old man. Besides, if my praying hadn’t saved the animal before, what difference would it make to say anything now? I stared at the old man, not knowing what to do. I didn’t know how to describe what I felt. Part of me needed to tell Dog goodbye, as a way of apologizing, but I wasn’t sure how.

A low rumble rolled through the valley as I shook my head.

The makeshift ceremony was over. Walt stuffed his sweat rag away, grabbed the shovel, and pitched dirt like before. I watched the distant lightening and tried not to think about the animal running frightened in the storm.

I had not only lost the dog, but in the limited understanding of a five-year-old boy, it also felt I had lost a part of myself. I wanted the old man to explain it to me, to help make the pain go away, but he was lost in his work.

As I listened to the dirt hitting the blanket, the darkness closed in. The thunder drew closer, the breath left my body, and I clenched my fists right before the first drops hit my cheek.

Trying to outrace the rain, I ran back to the open field.

One

The Visitor

I was crazy tired or maybe just plain crazy. I couldn’t sleep, I didn’t eat, and I’d spent the last two weeks raging in a cheap hotel room. I’d lost it all—the job, my savings, my family and now my sanity. The only life preserver I could cling to in that moment was that my father insisted I stay with him.

I didn’t want to at first. Middle-aged men don’t do that. When Dad first called, I downplayed the fighting with my wife. I rattled off some remark about not getting enough sleep, a simple misunderstanding, and all the other lame excuses I had up my sleeve. I wasn’t fooling anybody. My father knew it. That’s why he kept pushing. After his second phone call last week, I agreed. I swallowed my pride, packed my bags, and got on the bus. I resolved to leave all the stress behind and start over.

Now, dragging my bags up the back steps after midnight, I crouched down to find the spare key under the welcome mat. Dad wasn’t a night owl. He needed his rest and we had agreed I’d let myself in. After fumbling with the lock and carefully creeping through the back hall, I eventually made my way into the living room. No sooner had I turned on a small lamp than I bumped the coffee table and triggered an alarm.

No, my father didn’t have a home security system.

I jolted back when the ear-splitting attack of a small black dog rang through my head. I wheeled my luggage around in a panic as the tiny tyrant barked its lungs out. Adrenaline shot through my tired body while I tried making sense of it all. (Where did this come from? Dad’s last dog died some time ago.) The animal pawed the hardwood floor before charging ahead and biting at