A Last Visit With Jeff

If you've been reading this blog for a while or if you're a member of my dog discussion group on Ecunet, you probably remember Jeff. Jeff is a Labrador retriever I met during my first weeks in Jackson, Alabama, in November, 2003. He was my first and one of my best friends in Jackson. The first day we moved into the manse there, he saw me and came running across the boxes still in the front yard to let me pet him. In those first months, I saw him often. He had the run of the neighborhood. It was not at all uncommon for him to come running on to my front porch when he saw me sitting out there. The leash laws and the animal control officers finally caught up with him, though. A neighbor or two had complained about garbage being turned over or other real or imagined transgressions, and Jeff's owners had to keep him limited in their back yard. His roaming days were seldom. Actually, it turned out that most of the spilled garbage and other transgressions were not Jeff's doing at all. Another dog was the culprit--a much smaller and less friendly dog. But some people were not kindly disposed to my canine friend, largely because of his size. Lydia and I liked Jeff's humans, though we never got to know them very well. As the days and months went on, I saw Jeff less and less. I was always excited whenever Lydia told me that Jeff was out. I'd try to get to the front porch or the back deck in hopes that he would come and let me pet him. I would even call him by name. If he was out with his family, I'd sometimes go over to their yard. Lydia and I would talk to the people; but they loved Jeff, too. They knew that he was our real friend. It may seem silly to some that during that last week of our residence in Jackson, I wanted to have one last visit with Jeff. I hadn't seen him for several weeks. It had been a very distressing spring for Lydia and me--one with a lot of concerns and not much enjoyment. But one night during that last week, as we were contemplating our future and anticipating the packing and loading and chaos that would follow, Lydia and I made our way to the Walkers' home and asked about Jeff. Jeff was always glad to see me, even though we hadn't been together as much in these last months. I petted that big, furry back and patted his head. This dog, still in the prime of life, was a reminder that even amid the darkest of times, there can always be at least one memory that brings joy and hope. He was unusually frisky on this night, running back and forth from me to his family, and finally running off down the street, taking one of his rare opportunities for freedom. The wife seemed alarmed. "He'll be fine," Ken said confidently of the big, faithful dog. Personally, after I got my chance to spend quite a bit of time greeting Jeff and telling him what a great dog he was, I kind of liked the fact that he was getting a chance to roam a bit. He deserved his freedom, even if that freedom were short-lived. And as a matter of fact, we also had one of the best visits with the Walkers that we had during our entire stay in the neighborhood. They are fine Christian people and have two wonderful sons. It was a very enjoyable evening. We saw Jeff later that night, back in his own yard. I like to think of Jeff and dogs like him--and families like the Walkers. He provided a continuing bit of playfulness and welcome while we were living through a somewhat difficult period of our ministry--and he gave us some of the happiest memories of our days on West Pearl Street in Jackson, Alabama! Good night, old boy!