Daily Guideposts - Your Source for Inspiration

September 30, 2008

The story of a girl and her best friend

Obadiah

by Angela Marie Kelly
Cove, Oregon

Obadiah was one of the best friends I had ever had. It seemed like there wasn't a place in the world that we didn't go together. Oh, I loved him so much!
    I live with my foster family on a farm in eastern Oregon. Sometimes when I look back on my life at all the things that have happened, I get real sad and lonely. But I could always count on Oby. He stuck by my side no matter what, and he'd listen to me when no one else had the time.
    He was handsome. Sometimes I'd just sit and watch him run around the farm. He had black hair, long black eyelashes, black lips and big brown eyes that could melt your heart. I loved his eyes, the way they used to look into mine. He was just a dog, but Obadiah loved me, and even if he couldn't tell me with words, his eyes told me everything.
    On November 23, 1992, my real dad came up from Arizona to visit me in Oregon for Thanksgiving. He brought my younger sister, Jennifer, and my two little brothers, Matthew and Daniel. I was excited. Dad got into town late Monday night and decided to check into a motel and wait until morning to see me. My foster home is out in the country a ways, and Dad was tired.
    We spent the whole next day together and I stayed the night with them at the motel. It was fun, but I worried about Oby; I knew he'd wonder where I was.
    In the morning we decided to go out to the farm to do some bird hunting. When I got to the house, my foster dad was on the phone. He looked really worried about something and talked in a low, urgent voice. Finally, after I couldn't stand it any longer, I interrupted and asked him what was the matter. He said my foster mom was at the hospital with my foster sister Amanda. Amanda had swallowed a penny, and the doctors worried about the way it was lodged in her throat. When I asked him if there was anything I could do, he told me to find the keys to the Blazer so he could leave right away when he got off the phone with the hospital.
    As soon as he hung up, I handed him the keys and he rushed out the door. I was scared for Amanda, but I also had my dad and siblings to think about. I couldn't abandon them. All I could do for Amanda was pray real hard.
    Suddenly I remembered Oby. He wasn't anywhere outside that I could see. When I didn't find him sleeping in my room, I began to panic. I decided to call my foster dad on the CB radio. He was probably still on the property. Maybe he could tell me where to find Obadiah.
    When I got him on the radio there was a long pause. He said he had to talk to me right away and that he was coming back to the house. In a minute he was there. "Angela," he said, "I hate to be the one to tell you this 'cause I know it's gonna hurt."
    I knew I didn't want to hear what was coming next.
    He finally got the dreaded words out: "Obadiah had to take the doggy wagon."
    "What?" I was upset. I thought they'd taken Oby to the pound. I couldn't imagine what he'd taken to chewing on this time.
    "No, Angela," he tried to make me understand, "Oby took the doggy wagon to heaven."
    They'd let Obadiah out to run in the yard. Russell, an older neighbor, stopped by in his truck. Oby was chasing something and just ran right behind Russell as he was backing up. He accidentally hit Obadiah. In all the worry and excitement about Amanda, my foster dad hadn't had a chance to tell me.
    "I'm sorry, Angela. Russell says he didn't even see him. . ." He kept talking but all I could hear was a distant mumble.
    Finally it hit me and my chest felt as if it were about to burst. My foster dad held me. I could feel everybody staring at me, wondering what I was going to do. Because I couldn't stand the pressure and stillness of my life at that moment, I ran into the bathroom and yelled out in pain. Nothing had ever hurt so bad! I'd never had to deal with someone close to me passing away. Obadiah may have been a dog, but he was one of the most important members in my circle of love.
    After a while my foster dad left for the hospital and my real dad knocked gently on the bathroom door. He came in crying and just wanted to hold me. Then he said that Jennifer and I needed to stay in the house while he and the boys buried Oby.
    "You don't want to see him like this, honey," he said.
    "Thanks, Dad, but I need to be there. I need to bury him. He was a part of me, and I have to say goodbye." I said this with such confidence that I even surprised myself.
    My family followed me to my room and silently watched me pull my boots on. I don't think they knew quite what to say. Then we walked outside. The stinging winter wind whipped against our tear-stained faces. When we got to the big sheet of tin that covered Oby, Dad lifted it up and there lay my friend, all stiff and cold. I could feel my heart tear in half as I knelt to pet his soft ears. I whispered to him, "I'm so sorry, honey."
    Matt and Dad said they'd lift Oby. But I didn't care how big my black Lab was, and I didn't care if it would almost kill me to carry Oby to his grave, I was not letting anyone else touch him. I said a silent prayer to Jesus and he gave me the strength to carry my dog out back behind the barn. I didn't even have to stop.
    When we got to the spot near a patch of blackberry bushes where Oby used to like to play, I laid him down and ran clear back to the house while Dad and my brothers started digging.
    My room was cluttered with all my belongings, but without my dog it felt empty. I got the socks he chewed on, his old collar, some beef jerky treats, a couple of bones he'd hidden away and a special cross that an old lady had knit for me. By the time I got back to the spot, Matt and Dad were done digging. I stepped down into the hole and pulled Oby in. I put his collar on him and wrapped the knitted cross around it. I put the rest of his belongings at his feet. Then I knelt and kissed his shoulder. I began singing "Jesus Loves Me" and everyone started bawling. Then I covered Oby with dirt and asked if we could bow our heads. "Dear Lord," I prayed, "please take my dog. Take good care of him. I just want to thank you for all the good times I had with Obadiah, but now he's yours. Amen."
    Dad and my siblings went back home to Arizona the next day, Thanksgiving. Amanda pulled through just fine. But for a while afterward I felt as if I were dead. Then the old lady who had knit the cross for me told me about a golden Lab retriever pup in town, and I got her. I named her Little Anne, and she's the sweetest thing you ever did see. Russell, who felt just terrible about what happened, gave me a nice card and some money to help me buy the things you need for a new dog.
    It's hard to start over, but I've got faith. I think I may have planted some seeds with my siblings too. I hope they got to see the love of the Lord working through me in my hard time.
    The greatest blessing was having my family with me when Oby died, and learning to be thankful for what I do have even when I've lost something wonderful. The same day I went to get Little Anne, we stopped at a store and I put some money in the Salvation Army bucket. The lady ringing the belt gave me a card that read, "For those that grieve, God gives beauty instead of ashes, gladness instead of mourning, and praise instead of despair."
    It was perfect! It was from God.