Sebastian the Peace Maker
My dog never did leap beside me out of airplanes into combat zones. He never did seek out lost children in the woods. He didn’t locate bombs in airports or guide the blind across busy intersections. He didn’t discover millions of dollars and loads of narcotics hidden in vehicles. He was just Sebastian the Peace Maker.
Several years ago, my family was put to task to adopt a small Pomeranian that very much resembled a Red Fox, minus the large fluffy tail. This little dog, named Sebastian, had managed to make his way from Memphis, Tennessee to Nashville, Tennessee via a series of failed adoptions. When we first picked him up at a family member’s home, he hid under the furniture and cried when touched. He was terrified of everything and everyone but we took him home anyway.
The first day at home, he scampered under my bed and refused to come out for two days. Finally, I decided enough was enough and reached under the bed to pull him out. I succeeded in extricating him but he also succeeded in chewing up my hand and drawing quite a bit of blood. It wasn’t his fault he was so scared of everything. Up until this point, his life had been traumatic.
We made every effort to make him comfortable. We hoped he would enjoy toys and treats and a comfy bed, but none of that appealed to him. What he did take to was a blue and white Teddy Bear that he commandeered. He slept beside it and groomed it and even took it pieces of food from his bowl. It was cute and heart-warming and if it took that to make him happy, so be it.
Time went on and Sebastian came to associate himself with me. He apparently decided that I would be his human and he began to learn me. He loved all of my family but he became a fixture with me. Whenever I sat down to watch television or read the paper, he would wait to be picked up and sit beside me. Whenever I went somewhere he would stand at the door and patiently await my return. When I would eat a meal, he would sit quietly beside me knowing that a handout was sure to come.
As much as he loved me, he loved my children too. If I so much as pretended to spank my children, that small dog who loved me beyond all else would bark, growl and snap at me as if to say, “Look John, you’re my best friend and I’ll give my life for you, but you’re not going to hurt these kids while I’m around.” I appreciated that more than any person could ever know. He was part of the family and a hundred pound guard dog shoved into a loving, ten pound package.
Sebastian was intuitive. This is how he became the Peace Maker. I went through several really stressful and tumultuous years. Sebastian could tell when I needed my space, but also when I needed a companion. He would seek me out as if to say, “Hey buddy, I know you’ve had a hard day. Don’t forget I love you.” He was as regular as clockwork. He could sense my stress without me even calling him and he would come to make me all better.
The tragic part of being a pet owner is that we greatly outlive them. See, the part about Sebastian that I’ve neglected to tell you is that he wasn’t well, since the day we got him. He was old when he came to me. He had congestive heart failure. His kidneys were beginning to fail. He had arthritis and his hips were failing. His eyes were starting to become cloudy robbing him of sight.
Day after day, month after month, that poor little dog would take as many as six pills in the morning and another six at night. That doesn’t count the cream that I would have to put in his eyes or that I would have to lift him onto his small bed. This story doesn’t consider that to hold him for any length of time meant that you would have to change to clean clothes afterwards because he couldn’t control his bladder. This story doesn’t consider that he would cough after every second breath, day and night, because his lungs were failing. It doesn’t matter. He was the Peace Maker.
It doesn’t take into consideration that when you pet him, his entire body would rock from a gentle touch and that he would faint from the exertions of walking down the side walk. It doesn’t take into consideration that to scratch his head or his back meant feeling his every bone under the slightest caress. It doesn’t take into consideration that his teeth were thinning and he couldn’t chew on a bone but would still zealously defend my children if he thought they were going to come to harm. It doesn’t matter. He was the Peace Maker.
I discovered, late in his life, that I could fill a bath tub with warm water and let him float in it, his head in my hand and he would go quickly to sleep, enjoying the relief that the weightlessness of the warm water would give to his old bones and joints. Hours I spent kneeling beside the bath, hands shriveling in the water, letting my friend have respite from his pain. Medication no longer worked.
Despite his poor, frail body failing him every moment of every day, he never failed me. His small, diseased heart was large enough for the both of us. He was truly man’s best friend. The Doctors and the staff of the veterinary clinic where we frequented were amazed at his ability to cling to life. He was tenacious in his love and dedication. “He could go at any moment,” they would tell me, but would smile and be amazed when I would bring him back for his checkups.
I held him in my arms when he took his last breath and I buried him beneath a large white oak tree in the middle of a hay pasture last Christmas. I gave him some hyacinth bulbs and they bloomed this spring, cheerfully marking his grave in a spray of blue, purple and pink. He was the little, lonely, thrown away dog who only wanted a family and found one. Sebastian was the Peace Maker.
Blessed are the peacemakers for they will be called the Children of God. Matthew 5:9
Turnbull: Based on a True Story Page 12
