Soji and Dash

By John William Klein

Dash was an Okie with all the drive to survive inherent in that accolade. In cold and gray November on the Great Plains, he would need that instinct not to perish. Oklahoma, where the wind literally comes sweeping down the plain, was a dangerous refuge for a dog to thrust out on his own. There were few sources of food for a scared standard schnauzer puppy, hungry and alone, in an empty Tulsa lot. It was Caroline Nolan of Schnauzer Rescue of Tulsa who initially captured him on the day after Thanksgiving 2004. Dash finally had human arms around him, and the Standard Schnauzer Club of America was desirous of placing him in a happy home. Thus, in that Brookside field began the history of Dashs conquest of fear and his journey to me in Baltimore. Little could Caroline know how much her persevering efforts that day would change two livesDashs and mine.

John William Klein

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 17, 2016
• ISBN: 9781514484456

John William Klein

About the Author The Rev. John William Klein, SSC, describes himself as a Christian first, a priest for over 47 years, and as a pilgrim to Santiago de Compostela; he has walked the Camino four times. Father Klein, Anglo-Catholic by conviction, has served seven parishes in the Episcopal Church, one in the Church of England, and now serves as Vicar of Saint James the Great Anglican Church (Anglican Province of America) in Smiths Station, Alabama. He is a retired U. S. Army Chaplain. He holds the M.Div. cum honoribus from the Philadelphia Divinity School, the Doctor of Ministry from San Francisco Theological Seminary, and the MA and PhD from Auburn University. This book is his doctoral dissertation, defended on May 10, 2015. He is proudest, however, of writing Soji and Dash a memoir of his beloved Standard Schnauzers. He is married to Linda Wilkins Klein, DVM, MFT, who owns and operates WellSpring Counseling Center in Opelika, Alabama. Linda and John live on the edge of the woods in Opelika, Alabama with their dogs: Sunny, Dasher, and Sweet T(ea).

Book preview

LIFE WITH SOJOURNER

1

Sojourner the Great

It was a scorching hot Oklahoma day, the Fourth of July 1989, in fact, and my wife Mary and two of my three daughters, Allison and Elizabeth, had just returned from the beautiful mountain lake north of Fort Sill. My first-born, Adrianne, was working at Disney World in Florida. I was an Army Chaplain, a Major at that point, assigned to the 212th Field Artillery Brigade. We had returned from two duty assignments in Germany on July 4, 1988, and this day marked one year back in the U.S.A. It had not been an easy year. I had returned to an assignment I would rather have avoided, the Family Life Center at Fort Sill; my hope had been to be with troops. Still, I was bearing up, or so I thought. For some years I had begged my wife for a dog. It had been many, many years since last I owned one. That particular animal was rather wild too, an Irish Setter named Blue who had absolutely no obedience training and probably lacked the intelligence to be trained in any case. The dog had run away from home on at least three occasions and I was naive enough to keep paying out rewards for his return. He went to live on a Florida farm when we were called to work in the Church of England. Ever since, I had longed to own my own dog. Moving all over the world in the Army made that nearly impossible. So, I waited for the day when we would be in a more permanent setting. That never came, but the dog did!

We pulled into the driveway of our Lawton, Oklahoma suburban house and were looking forward to the refreshing air-conditioning inside. Then I caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of my eye. Under a holly bush, scarcely moving, was the most pitiful, bleeding creature I have ever seen. At first I scarcely recognized him as a dog; there was little or nothing canine looking about him. I observed that the fur was mostly ripped from his back, asphalt burns all over his body, mats where fur remained and he was very, very weak. We were cautious, of course; perhaps the animal had rabies. No doubt he was frightened and would bite anyone coming near. I got a blanket with which to wrap him and protect myself. He never uttered a peep, nor did he show anything but gratitude. We presumed he would probably die before the day was out, but he had other ideas. From the neighbors we learned that he had been dragged by a pick-up truck some hundred or more feet on the burning asphalt. From our closer inspection we ascertained that he was blind, which explained how vulnerable he was to being struck. We gave him water and a little food. He had been without both for a long time. He stayed on our patio until nightfall, and we tended to his medical needs as best we knew how. By morning he was looking much better.

The new day brought military duty for me. I was to take my three battalion chaplains from the 212th Field Artillery Brigade to a wonderful resort at Quartz Mountain, Oklahoma to play golf and lay out our plans for ministry within the brigade. As so many real soldiers have done, I left the affairs of home to my highly competent wife. These affairs now included one very sick dog that had to go to the vet. My instructions were, If he has to be put to sleep, then we must do it. But, if there is any chance he might survive - well, I would love to have him. Mary took the dog to the veterinarian. Her verdict: There really is no reason to put this dog to sleep. He was blind of course, and also deaf we learned, but his heart and lungs were good. He was old. How old? we asked. The vet said, I'm not sure. One thing is sure he's been on the run a long time. So the little black terrier-poodle cross came home to live with us when I came home from the retreat. I was thrilled. At last I had my own dog. He was great and he grew stronger everyday. His fur grew back and covered the horrible scars. He memorized the patterns of traffic within the house and played in the garden. Elizabeth had a rabbit named Hobbit and he tracked it perfectly. His sense of smell was acute and no doubt heightened by the loss of sight and hearing. He was much loved. I gave him the name Sojourner, a Biblical name that means one who wandered in and stayed. We all loved Sojourner. He enriched our lives.

In April of 1990 I decided to leave active duty and return to parish ministry in the Episcopal Church. I became the Rector of Maryland's Somerset Parish on the Eastern Shore. I was the fiftieth Rector in what would become the three hundredth year of Old Somerset's history in 1992. Sojourner moved with us. We were given a charming Victorian rectory in which to live in the quaint eighteenth-century village of Princess Anne. Sojourner quickly adapted. He chased Hobbit the rabbit but never quite caught her. He ran all over the house, sometime hitting objects left by my youngest daughter Elizabeth. In the evenings he would watch Public Broadcasting's Mystery Theater with me. And he would go to the sailboat and work in the rose garden and sleep in the kitchen and enjoy endless hours of petting by our family and countless visitors to the rectory. He was a loved dog.

At Christmas of 1990, my long lost father, who I hadn't seen in over twenty-five years, reappeared. He came to visit, in what turned out to be one of the happiest times of my life and Sojourner's, who was fed oysters by the fireplace on that Christmas Day in the old rectory parlor. I'm sure that for Soji it was all unbridled joy. He gave us so much love and brought me immense happiness. But, Sojourner was very old.

One night we watched Mystery on television. The show was Agatha Christie's The 4:50 from Paddington. I could see that he was much more tired than usual, and I carried him to his bed in the kitchen. He made a soft grunt as I tucked him in. He died in his sleep in the early morning hours. I found him at first light, and I could scarcely believe what had happened. I summoned what little courage I had, and went to tell Mary. Soji is dead. The words echo back over the years to me even now with great pain. I felt a hollowness that would not go away. It was April 29, 1991, and for the next year I found my fondest thought and my deepest grief in remembrances of my beautiful, beloved dog. For one very, very long year I grieved for my Sojourner; I became convinced I would never have a dog again. In time he became Sojourner the Great!

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Sojourner the Great in Lawton, 1989, after his fur had grown back covering his wounds.

2

April 29, 1992

It was our custom to have a cup of tea every morning as we read the newspaper. Mary and I would divide up the Salisbury, Maryland paper and I usually read the dogs for sale column, generally sub rosa, after all I didn't want anyone to think I was still in grief over the death of an old dog. Real men do not do such things. I had followed this routine, more or less, for an entire year. The date was April 29, 1992 and the advertisement from the Wicomico County Animal Shelter read: Found mixed breed black terrier on Fillmore street... Somehow, the date