Dogs bring messages such as: You are loved, you are not alone, you are protected and guided by a divine higher power and when you are lonely, I am here. Those who can accept the gift of a dog are taught by some of life’s wisest teachers.
Let me give you a few examples:
Joseph follows me everywhere. Is he worried about me, or does he find me endlessly fascinating?
If I laugh, Joy joins in on my laughter with loud barks as she climbs up my body to give me wet kisses.
When I was recovering from surgery, Grace was beside me every minute while being very careful not to put any weight on my bandages.
When I come home, all three pups run to greet me like I’ve been gone for a year.
Then there was rescued Pete, who specialized in high spirited destruction, joyful escape from the yard, and compassionate friendship.
Mary taught a sixty-something woman how to handle middle age gracefully and cheerfully.
And then there was Jeff, who would be silent, sit close, and nuzzle me if I was having a bad day.
Finally, there was Jesse who would never pass up the opportunity to go for a joyride in my truck.
Advice to all dog owners: put your feet up, sip your favorite beverage and get into a playful mood and let your dogs show you how your life can be much more fun!
Blessings,
Dianne Hammontree, secretary of Homeward Bound, Inc
“Oh, how I longed to introduce Joseph to my friend John,” I reminisce. With John residing in a pet-friendly apartment, the opportunity for a puppy rendezvous presented itself, and off we ventured. Joseph, intuitively sensing his new companion, wasted no time in making himself at home. He gracefully maneuvered onto John’s substantial wheelchair, showered him with affectionate licks, and nestled snugly into his lap for a serene morning nap.
Our adventures didn’t end there. Eager to spread joy beyond our circle, we decided to pay a visit to a local nursing home. Maneuvering through the labyrinthine hallways, replete with wheelchairs and stretchers bearing the weight of elderly and infirm residents, felt like navigating a challenging obstacle course. Adjusting Joseph’s leash, we commenced our journey down the corridor. Suddenly, a clamor erupted, “A dog! A dog!” In an instant, we found ourselves encircled by wheelchair-bound patients, each eager to make the acquaintance of Joseph.
Squatting down, I enveloped Joseph in a protective embrace. He leaned into me reassuringly as a young man, his eyes gleaming with excitement, hastened toward us. With an awkward yet endearing gesture, he extended his hand to tenderly pat Joseph, erupting into fits of joyous laughter. Soon after, an elderly lady approached, her eyes brimming with nostalgia. “May I pet him too?” she inquired softly. Joseph, ever the gentle soul, obliged, eliciting fond memories from the lady. “He’s so soft,” she mused, “I once had a dog named Joy.”
As Joseph continued his rounds, more residents joined in, each sharing their own tales and laughter. With each interaction, Joseph’s demeanor seemed to elevate, his spirits soaring as he pranced about, his head held high, basking in the adoration he received.
Upon our departure, a profound sense of contentment enveloped us. I made a silent vow to return and witness those radiant smiles more often, reflecting on the invaluable lesson my furry companion had imparted. Back home, Joseph retreated to his bed, his weary yet satisfied frame a testament to the joy he had spread. What a remarkable companion he was! I couldn’t help but wonder who we would encounter on our next excursion.
Twenty years ago, Ken and I took a walk in Ashland through the Seminary quad. As we came upon one of the oldest buildings, Ken spotted a piano in the window and asked, “Do you think anyone would mind if I stopped in to play a moment?” The building was lit and had a few students roaming about so in we went.
Ken sat down to play the most beautiful song—Autumn Leaves.
I sat beside him on the bench and began to cry. “What’s wrong?” he asked. I told him it took me two years to learn this very song on the piano so I could play it for my dad on Christmas morning.
Most people believe you cannot love someone you don’t even know. I didn’t know Ken emotionally or physically, yet I knew him. We had an attachment that was much more than a romantic feeling. It was not temporary or selfish in nature. We did not fall in love. Our love was definitely orchestrated by God. We developed a deep appreciation and admiration for each other, an awareness of each other’s needs, strengths, and character. We began to experience true love, one that could grow for our lifetime.
God wants to give us miracles because every miracle is a testimony of how much He loves us. I thank God for His gift of love and for the music of Autumn Leaves.
Blessings,
Dianne Hammontree, secretary of Homeward Bound, Inc.
My dog Jesse and I were excited to begin her direct-patient care service as a brand-new Hospice volunteer. To prepare for her first patient, I gave Jesse a bath with cherry vanilla shampoo, gave her a good brushing and placed her identification necklace and red bandana around her neck. We proudly walked to the nursing home and located the correct room. When I saw the gentleman’s name on the door, my heart stopped beating.
Don, the meanest man in the world, was Jesse’s first Hospice patient.
About two months earlier, Don came to look at one of my remodeled houses with his daughter. His daughter loved the house and wanted to sign the paperwork to purchase it. Don began verbally ripping my house apart, inch by inch, electrical, plumbing, paint, carpentry, etc., etc., etc. He not only insulted my hard work but attacked my character as well.
I was too dumbfounded by his evil and abusive words to reply or to stand up for myself. By the time Don and his daughter left my spirit was crushed to the floor. Regardless of his disgusting attitude, Jesse and I met our weekly obligations with Don for months.
Usually, Hospice is responsible for a patient deemed terminal for a six-month period then staff and volunteers are called off. After six months, Don was still alive and stable. We continued our weekly visits anyway.
One afternoon, I received an emergency phone call from Don’s nursing home. “Please bring Jesse—quick!” the nurse said. “Your patient is hysterical and violent. We have tried everything to calm him down, but nothing is working. BRING JESSE NOW!”
Jesse and I entered the room to find Don totally out of control. His sweet little wife couldn’t calm him down without getting hurt. Even though he was older and weak, he could send even a large person flying across the room with his thrashing arms and legs.
Jesse slowly walked over to Don’s bed and waited. His wild eyes spotted her, and he waited. She laid her head on his bed. Ever so slowly he came back to reality without hurting Jesse. As he petted her soft fur, he talked and talked.
He had just realized that he was going to die and did not know where he was going, heaven or hell. Don had spent years ignoring God, feeling lonely to the core, feeling unsafe and unprotected. Life was such a frighting place because he thought we were all just thrown out there with no purpose, no plan, no direction, and no help.
Little by little, with great trepidation and embarrassment, he began to entertain the possibility of God’s existence. He was amazed to find out that even after all this time of pushing God away, God had never left him. All he had to do was open his eyes and ears and heart.
Don died shortly after this amazing journey, and Jesse and I felt privileged to have had the pleasure of knowing the ‘meanest man’ as our friend.
Blessings,
Dianne Hammontree, secretary of Homeward Bound, Inc.
Photo credit – Deb Chandler
When I was nineteen, newly married, first time confronted with bills and living away from home, I needed to learn a lot about connection, closeness, and safety, and something inside whispered “a dog-you need a dog.” Fortunately, I was lucky enough to listen.
Rusty was one of many that have been with me in my seventy-five years of living. My dogs have taught me that they have their own unique loving way of teaching me, that in times of crisis, in times of celebration, in times of daily life… we are not alone. A wag of a tail, a lick, and a hug are some of the ways my pups have expressed their love. Every day my pups tell me, ‘I adore you.’
Photo credit – Deb Chandler
Dogs bring people together. As I walk up the street with one or all three dogs, I see smiles on the faces of people passing by or driving to work. Next, we come to all ages of children waiting for the buses and believe it or not, they put their cells phones down and drop to the sidewalk to snuggle with the pups.
Should you consider adopting a dog or getting a pup from a breeder, these are the lessons you will learn from your new pup:
1. Talk or woof less and listen more.
2. Don’t waste time worrying about what doesn’t matter.
3. Let Grandpa ramble on about his younger days.
4. If you are sick—go to bed.
5. Cherish every moment.
6. Kiss when you feel like it.
7. Forgive when you don’t feel like it.
8. Laugh and hug.
9. Marvel at what the world looks like through the eyes of some of
God’s most loving creatures.
Blessings and Merry Christmas,
Dianne Hammontree, Secretary of Homeward Bound, Inc.
God certainly knew what He was doing when He created the changing seasons. I guess it’s the same for me. The seasons in my life change as I age, but they all work together for good. My children are grown and married and have given me beautiful grandchildren. December is, and has always been, a time of reflection for me…remembering the past seventy-five years and the people and dogs that have part of my life. I recall some of the dogs from my childhood to the present in this way:
Jet=Kindness
I learned so much by watching the way she rejoiced in life’s simplest moments. Every morning was Christmas morning. Every run was the best run. Every dinner was the best dinner. Jet taught me to be kind to others.
Rusty=Patience
I adopted Rusty when I was nineteen, working full time, was a first time renter and first time human with a dog. Rusty didn’t get the attention he needed, so training was quite a chore, but he loved me anyway and taught me patience.
Jesse=self control
Jesse taught me to wait to control my thoughts and emotions. She would snuggle up to me and say, “This is only a moment, it is not the rest of your life,” and I would immediately calm down, breathe, and tackle the problem.
This year, I’ve decided to make the biggest strides at Christmas and focus on others: humans and animals. I want to be grateful for the profound yet simple things. It’s impossible to dwell on my problems when serving coffee to a woman whose child is fighting cancer. Or when visiting a lonely gentleman in a nursing home. Or when a little girl tugs on your shirt and wants you to take time to see the drawing she made for her mommy. Or when you find a lost pup, give him a bath, a meal and then try to find his owner.
Christmas is truly a season of miracles. I pray that we all practice what Jet, Rusty and Jesse taught me; that portraying kindness, patience and self control will let us focus on others in the coming year.
Blessing, and Happy Thanksgiving, and Merry Christmas!
Dianne Hammontree, Secretary of Homeward Bound, Inc.
It seemed like an impossible choice, adopt a rescue dog, or pick out a puppy. Ken and I had a fenced-in back yard and we could give a home to a dog in need, but we were waiting for direction or guidance. We found a place that had a litter of puppies and spent an hour surrounded by impossibly furry bundles of energy whose teeth were so small we couldn’t even feel them gnawing on our toes. We held them and snuggled them, looked at each other and knew these pups weren’t for us.
On our way home we felt led to stop at our vet’s office. As soon as we entered, our vet came out with a little two-year-old neglected boy and said, “I feel this little guy should go home with you.” As this pup crawled onto my lap on the way home, I knew that this decision… God’s decision, had been right all along.
Ken and I named our boy Simon Peter but nicknamed him The Great Houdini. Pete was the dog version of this great artist. Pete could climb and jump and wedge his little body through a slightly opened door. Just when we thought we had tackled every escape situation, he found a new way out.
I used to love to read in the back yard and have Pete on the bench next to me untethered. While I was engrossed in my book, Pete would slither off the bench and be halfway up Center Street, before I sensed his absence. Determined to thwart him, I barricaded off the north side of the house with fence and trellis. The little stinker turned his attention to the south side and off he went, either chasing an Amish buggy or checking out the customers at SAVE-A-LOT.
Pete hadn’t ignored his boundaries to be bad or because he wanted to leave his nice cozy home. He was just curious and wanted a squirrel or a bird or a horse, “good things.” Boundaries stood in the way of his pleasure. Since he was a dog, he didn’t know boundaries were for his benefit, so he wouldn’t be hurt or even killed.
God sets up fences for us, just like I did for Pete, to keep us from harm and sometimes from death. While we are chasing “good things,” like Pete did, God sees the danger and draws us closer to Him. Pete didn’t try to escape anymore, he just basked in my love and stayed safe within his boundaries.
Slow your pace, draw boundaries around your work, and take time for the people you love.
Blessings,
Dianne Hammontree Secretary of Homeward Bound Dog Shelter
Happiness is a dominant emotion for both Grace and I when we are at a nursing home, strange as that sounds and strange as it was. We didn’t go there to be happy any more than we did to learn about hope or fortitude or to think about courage and faith— but that’s what happened. This day we were blessed with tremendous leadership and a devoted staff.
When Grace is at “work,” she brings a lightness and easiness that seems to expand outward and encompasses almost everyone she encounters. We often talk about getting out of our comfort zone, but Grace does not see a debilitating illness or lack of privacy or bodily fluids, so she just jumps into anyone’s comfort zone. Which happened!
A dog and her human are like a pair of dance partners, able to anticipate each other’s moves and read body language, and pick up on the most subtle cues.
We found the room of a lovely lady, whom we will call Ruth. Her nurse and family member said that Ruth had been unresponsive for four days. They assumed she was ready to meet Jesus. I picked up Grace and gently laid her on the bed close to Ruth. Nothing. Not even a flutter of her closed eyelids. Then I took Ruth’s arm out from under the sheet and blanket and placed her hand on Grace’s chest. Ruth’s eyes shot open, bright, and clear and happy and she said, “Hey, Hey!” Then one second later her eyes closed. Unresponsive again.
Nothing in my life had prepared me for this simple act. What was I supposed to do? I spoke with the nurse and family member, “Did you see what I just saw?” It seemed that Ruth just saw heaven and not us.” Let’s try this again; the same thing happened. Every time I moved her hand on Grace— “Hey, Hey” with eyes open and joyful. Well, this went a few more times and all three of us in the room were laughing and crying for Ruth.
I put Ruth’s arm back under the covers, kissed her forehead, picked up Grace and headed down the hallway for a few more pets for Grace. Ruth did go see Jesus about eight hours later. What Grace could do, and I could not, was to meet Ruth exactly where she was: disabled, mute, frail, lonely and tired. She met her without a moment’s hesitation, and this was a gift.
When we got home, Grace got into her bed, curled herself into a tight ball, braiding leg over leg and stayed there, not asleep but not stirring either. She was spent.
Charity is what we can give one another. Don’t be afraid. Just do it!
Blessings,
Dianne Hammontree, secretary of Homeward Bound Dog Shelter.
The Grand Opening of the new dog shelter is on September 11 at 4:00 p.m.
When the Good Lord was creating mothers, He was so into His sixth day of “overtime” when the angel appeared and said, “You’re doing a lot of fiddling around on this one.”
And the Lord said, “Have you read the spec on this order? She has to be completely washable, but not plastic. Have 180 movable parts—all replaceable. Run on black coffee and leftovers. Have a lap that disappears when she stands up. A kiss that can cure anything from a broken leg to a disappointed love affair. And six pairs of hands.
The angel shook her head slowly and said, “Six pairs of hands—no way.”
“It’s not the hands that are causing me problems,” said the Lord, “It’s the three pairs of eyes Mothers have to have.”
“That’s on the standard model?” asked the angel.
The Lord nodded. “One pair that sees through closed doors when she asks, ‘What are you kids doing in there?’ when she already knows. Another here in the back of her head that sees what she shouldn’t but what she has to know, and of course the ones here in front so she can look at a child when he goofs and say, ‘I understand, and I love you,’ without so much as uttering a word.”
“Lord,” said the angel touching His sleeve gently, “come to bed. Tomorrow…”
“I can’t,” said the Lord, “I’m so close to creating something so close to myself. Already I have one who heals herself when she is sick…. can feed a family of six on one pound of hamburger….and can get a 9-year-old to stand under the shower.”
The angel circled the model of a mother very slowly. “It’s too soft,” she sighed.
“But tough!” said the Lord excitedly. “You cannot imagine what this mother can do or endure.”
“Can it think?”
“Not only think, but it can reason and compromise,” said the Creator.
Finally, the angel bent over and ran her finger across the cheek. “There’s a leak,” she pronounced. “I told You that You were trying to put too much into this model.”
“It’s not a leak,” said the Lord. “It’s a tear.”
“What’s it for?”
“It’s for joy, sadness, disappointment, pain, loneliness, and pride.”
“You are a genius,” said the angel.
The Lord looked somber. “I didn’t put it there.”
Blessings,
Dianne Hammontree, secretary of Homeward Bound Dog Shelter
Back in 1999 my youngest daughter, Julie, attended Bowling Green State University, and pursued a career in special education. One of her classes required her to teach a class in an inner city setting. She soon became mesmerized by twelve ten-year old African American youngsters in inner city Toledo, Ohio. Well into the school year, Julie called and asked if I could bring my two Golden Retrievers to her classroom for some dog therapy.
The children, I was told, were reserved because of their dysfunctional childhood. They retained scars from early emotional wounds—wounds that may not puncture the skin but punctured the heart. Yet despite their reservations, Julie discovered these children to be playful and giggly. Because they were so street smart, they had learned to survive and be happy regardless of their circumstances.
One breezy, beautiful spring morning Jeff and Jesse climbed into my truck and off we drove to the “mission field.” The windows were down, the flowers permeated the air, the dog’s large ears flapped in the breeze, and we were excited!
Two hours later, we arrived at Julie’s classroom, where she met us in the hallway. Julie had prepared the children for our arrival, but no one could have prepared me for the scene that was about to happen.
As we entered the room, all twelve children screamed at the top of their lungs and plastered themselves against the far wall. The screaming continued, so Julie ushered us out and encouraged us to try again. She explained that the only dogs these children come in contact with, are starving, abused, mean dogs. This time she would keep the children on the far wall. Jesse, Jeff, and I would SLOWLY enter and sit in the middle of the room, and I would quietly say, “Let the children come to me.”
What a wise teacher! One by one they came, cautiously step by step. We talked about the dogs, their gentleness, and about how much they love children. The youngsters came closer. Within fifteen minutes all were snuggled close, enjoying the soft fur and puppy kisses.
All twelve children were now in a safe environment, and they knew it. They all needed healing from their horrendous backgrounds, but only God could take care of that. For now, we cherished the moment.
It amazed me how quickly their personalities changed. Fear vanished and we had a memorable afternoon. When it was time for us to leave, all the children cried and hung on to Jeff and Jesse. They wanted more wet kisses, more safety, and no fear.
God’s sweet affection for these children and for me, taught me not to fear, for a life lived in fear isn’t much fun!
Blessings,
Dianne Hammontree, secretary of Homeward Bound Dog Shelter
Joe Lyons •
June 4, 2024
DIANNE’S DOGHOUSE
DIANNE’S DOGHOUSE
Photo credit – Deb Chandler
CHANGE
DIANNE’S DOGHOUSE
Happiness is a dominant emotion for both Grace and I when we are at a nursing home, strange as that sounds and strange as it was. We didn’t go there to be happy any more than we did to learn about hope or fortitude or to think about courage and faith— but that’s what happened. This day we were blessed with tremendous leadership and a devoted staff.
DIANNE’S DOGHOUSE
Back in 1999 my youngest daughter, Julie, attended Bowling Green State University, and pursued a career in special education. One of her classes required her to teach a class in an inner city setting. She soon became mesmerized by twelve ten-year old African American youngsters in inner city Toledo, Ohio. Well into the school year, Julie called and asked if I could bring my two Golden Retrievers to her classroom for some dog therapy.