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There is a wonderful sequence in "Aladdin and the Magic Lamp" where
Aladdin has won riches, a kingdom, and the love of his princess with
the help of a genie who resided inside an old, battered lamp. An evil
wizard dresses up as a street vendor and offers new, shiny lamps as a
free trade for old ones. Aladdin's princess has no feeling for the old
lamp and all it has done, so she hurries out and trades it for the
new, improved model. The evil wizard runs off cackling - the power of
the lamp is now his. Horrible events ensue until Aladdin is able to
get his old lamp back and make the world right again.
An acquaintance called me the other night to talk about the new dream
home he and his wife are completing. In the! ir 11 years of marriage,
they have celebrated the births of two children, developed careers,
and shared the good times and sad times with their small family.
Through all of it, a little cocker spaniel named Daisy has been there.
She was their first gift to each other and has guarded each of their
children's early steps, warned them valiantly of strangers
approaching, shared their tears and laughter.
Daisy has always
been in inside dog, kept within the walls of the home, the heart of the
family. Daisy is getting older, has problems with bladder control, and
is losing her teeth. She doesn't want to play with children anymore,
preferring to sleep at someone's feet and feel their hands patting her
gently.
Daisy has turned
into the old lamp.
My acquaintance alluded to this as he quietly asked me if I would take
Daisy. Their new house has carpet, dog accidents stain, and frankly,
Daisy smells at times.
Daisy would not be
happy as an outside dog, it would be too cruel to put her to sleep and
my acquaintance was "shocked" to learn that turning her over to the
local shelter means she would be put down. The old dog had no room
waiting in their new house - would I take her so they could get a new
younger one for their kids?
New dogs for old - the wizard would be pleased. In a just world, their
new house would crumble, they would lose their jobs, the kids would
get boils, and their rag-covered forms would crawl the earth looking
for Daisy to bring back home. In a just world, Daisy would have the
option of trading in the old family for a new one.
I swallowed my pain and tried to educate him, letting him know how
Daisy would suffer without her family, how bonded she was to them. He
let my words fall off his complacent armor; my pleas fell irrelevant
around his expensively shod feet.
I suggested doggy
diapers, vet visits for medicine, a room at the house with a cool tiled
floor and a soft dog bed. I whispered that he could grant her the mercy
of going into her final rest in the arms of her family. But nothing
touched the part that hurts in him.
So now I have a new dog, her name is Daisy, and the pain fueling her
bleeding heart is slowing fading into acceptance. She wets my floors
and yes, she smells, but her head feels good on my feet as I write this.
And I picture that
couple old and alone someday, incontinent, unbathed, and patronized by
children who consider the house an asset, the parents a liability,
leaving them with strangers at a nursing home.
New lamps for old.
Written by Carol M. Chapman
Hitchcock, Texas |
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