21 July 2005

They Will Remember You

--by Mike Murray

At my first meeting with Janna, she rose up on her hind legs, draped her galumphy Rottweiler-mix forepaws over my shoulders, and slathered sloppy kisses all over my face. It was her signature move, one that snagged her a home with Pam and me. It was not contrived; it was not calculated to improve her chances at adoption. It was just Jannie being Jannie.

Though J-Bear's display on that day was spontaneous and sincere, her method of expressing affection did not originate with me. At a fundraising event to which adopters brought their mutts, my wife sat quietly with Janna as the host emceed her program.

Pam was surprised to see Janna extend the leash to its maximum length so that she could reach the man seated nearby, and observed the following: Janna stood up on her hind legs, climbed into the man's lap, and -- sure enough -- bathed his face in kisses.

In an instant Pam recognized the man to be Steve who, along with his wife Fran, had been Janna's foster. J-Bear was engaging in joyous reunion.

That story comes to mind whenever I hear an animal-rescue worker (paid or volunteer) muse, "I wonder if [Fido] will remember me." It occurs to me whenever I observe an act of kindness pass from altruistic sender to needy recipient.

There was a movie out not too long ago that proclaimed that we should all, "Pay it Forward." The idea was thus: that, having been the beneficiary of assistance, we should then do a good turn (or turns) for someone else. The movie encouraged viewers to "pay forward" favors received. It was a noble and worthy notion. But it was far from novel.

I see people "paying it forward" all the time. I have witnessed (as I'm sure you have) selfless acts of kindness all my life. And nearly all of them have involved one person doing something beneficial for someone who had done nothing discernable to warrant repayment.

Those kind helpers were not technically "paying it forward," in the parlance of the movie. They were paying it back. They were simply offering repayment to someone other than the person(s) in whose debt they were. That's the way it is with life. We stand on the shoulders of those who have gone before us; and we subsequently offer our shoulders in support of those who follow.

In that way we most certainly "pay it back." And those we help eventually do the same. Who among us cannot recall a helpful teacher, a neighbor, a friend -- a stranger, even -- who offered a hand when one was desperately needed? Nearly everyone remembers an act of kindness that arrived when it was needed most, when we were at our wits' end.

That's the way it goes. Even the humblest of existences would be impossible without the assistance of others. No matter how self-sufficient we imagine ourselves to be, we are each of us the beneficiaries of benevolence.

I am amused on those occasions when I'm in the Metroparks and I encounter some nice couple walking their pooch. Social critters that they are (and possessed of a keen capacity to recognize "dog people"), the canine typically comes up to me and offers enthusiastic greeting. After a moment or two, the humans attempt to continue their stroll only to be pulled back by the mutt, who is attempting to prolong the visit.

Invariably, the couple chuckles, "Gee, I think our dog wants to go with you. You'd think we didn't treat him well." They say it jokingly, but sometimes they seem hurt. (My wife felt that way when our own Maggie once lingered an extra-long time with a pleasant young couple.)

I see it differently. I have no illusion that a dog I've just met really wants to abandon its family and come home to live with me. What I see is a wonderfully socialized and happy critter, one who sees humans as likely to be friendly and kind. I see a dog who is treated well by the humans it lives with, and so is trustful of even ones not yet met.

So many animals arrive at shelters having suffered abuse of one kind or another. Some gladly welcome the affection offered by their rescuers. Some are more wary and need time to build trust in a species that has thus far been unkind.

I recall Janna's first days with us. Though she'd been happy with fosters Fran and Steve, she was a little anxious in her new home. Sure, she freely offered affection -- she seemed to like us and our house well enough. (And she just loved those twice-daily walks.)

But she had a troubling habit. When called from across the back yard, she would at first charge toward me enthusiastically. I would typically be waiting for her in a kneeling position, my arms spread wide in a welcoming gesture. Once Janna got to within a few meters, however, she'd drop to the ground and roll over onto her back in a submissive "don't hurt me" pose.

It was heartbreaking. Janna's care at the hands of Fran and Steve was unquestionably good. But somewhere in her past, J-Bear must have known abuse. (She would also sometimes, for example, flinch when a hand was extended near her face ...a hand meant to sooth, not harm.)

While Janna had come a long way in her foster environment and clearly loved people, she had to reacquire -- to a degree -- her trust of humans after she was thrust into a new home.

Things are different now, of course. When Janna comes running up to me in the yard these days, she doesn't stop until she has rammed into me in joyous greeting. She doesn't just jump up on me; she jumps at me. I usually catch her front legs in mid-air. When I miss, she darn-near knocks me down in playful extravagance. (Needless to say, she is discouraged from doing this with others.)

I imagine that Janna developed her exuberant, happy ways with Steve. Whenever she tries to poke her nose into the bathroom while I'm showering, whenever she curls at my feet while I work at the computer, whenever she "sings" to me in her wolfish howl, I envision her doing the same in her foster home. The expressions of love she sends my way are meant for you too, Steve.

And then there is my friend of decades ago. We came from very different places, very different cultures. I arrived to our comradeship via a youth spent in Cleveland's inner city; he was from someplace nothing like that. Outwardly, we were as different as night and day. But we briefly shared a profound purpose that united us in distinct sameness.

He placed me in his debt in the deepest way anyone can, whereupon fate intervened and ensured that I would never gain the opportunity to repay him, in even a small way. I have never since owed anyone so much; I have never since been able to summon his memory with a dry eye.

There is a cynical saying that goes, "No good deed goes unpunished." Sometimes it seems that way. People can occasionally appear unappreciative. Worse, even. But I don't believe that ingratitude is the norm.

Sure, people often fail to return favors to those who have extended ones to them. Sometimes they even fail to say, "Thank you." But most end up doing something nice for someone else, someone who desperately needs assistance.

I believe that recollections of kindness persist. And I believe that, in ways large and small, most of us end up "paying it back." To those of you who've done something special for any of God's creatures, I have absolutely no doubt about it: They will remember you.

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