FUZZY ANGEL
(Maggi Norris 10-21-2000)I never realized when I started my trip that I would bring home an angel. I got the call. They said my grandmother was dying. I grabbed my clothes and loaded my car. My daughter, Jessica, and I were off on a trip of nearly 1000 miles.
The trip was cold. My old BMW did not have heat. It was fall and the weather in Texas was lovely. The farther north we got the more we shivered. We arrived in Indiana and went to the hospital to see my grandmother.
After a couple of days they allowed my grandmother to go home so that she could go in peace. The farm where my grandparents lived was still as beautiful as I remembered. It was very hard to see my grandmother there and not see the person she had always been to me, vivacious, alive and beautiful. I kept expecting her to start rocking and asking hundreds of questions. Instead she lay there occasionally smiling as if to say, "I am not afraid, so you don't have to be either."
My grandmother had a beautiful Australian Shepherd. It had given birth to a litter of puppies a few weeks before we arrived. Jessica was in love from the moment she laid eyes on them. My grandmother sent me to check on Jessica and the puppies often.
After returning from one of the trips to check on them, my grandmother told my grandfather to go pick one of those puppies out for me, since it was obvious I wanted one worse than Jessica did. She was right. I did.
The trip home was sad and painful. But we had a tiny ball of adorable black and tan fuzz to keep us company. Our puppy, who still had not chosen her name, rode in a small basket at Jessica's feet. When she woke she would move to Jessica's arms.
A few days later, Puppy chose her name. I was laughing at Garfield and Odie. Every time I said Odie, she would perk her ears and her eyes would shine. But how to make Odie feminine? There was no doubt that was the name she wanted. So, she became Oti. Over time, little extras were added to her name... Monstroti... Psychoti. She was a rambunctious child. Over time she grew into our lives and our hearts, and eventually into her ears and feet as well.
When Jessica was 18, I was on my way to Kentucky to live on my own. It was just me and Oti. I had never been on my own before. She was to become the greatest friend of my life and even the angel who saved my life.
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One winter morning in early 1999, Oti and I started out on our usual 6 a.m. walk. It was snowing heavily, but we were not daunted. After all, she would get beef jerky for her heroism of keeping me company. This was our daily ritual. We had to do it. Nothing like snow could stop us.
By the time we got to the store we had to stay for a few minutes just to get warm. Oti patiently waited while I bought her jerky. Then we were homeward bound. Before leaving the store's small parking lot I noticed it was snowing so heavily I could barely see the lights on inside or the large sign glowing on the corner that usually lights up the night sky.
Just off the parking lot and into the grass, I slipped in the snow and fell. I remember falling. I do not remember hitting the ground. When I came to the sun was starting to rise. The sky was starting to lighten. I was sitting with my head hanging over my lap and Oti was licking my face. It was snowing so hard I could not see the store or the road. Both were just a few feet away in opposite directions. It was obvious no one had seen me fall. I remember noticing my tracks in the snow behind me were gone.
As I tried to clear my head, I remember thinking that this was really going to hurt tomorrow. I tried to stand. I never made it. This time when I woke, Oti was in my lap crying and nudging me to wake up. It was daylight by now or as light as it was going to get that dreary day.
Once again I tried to stand. Once again blackness is all I remember. It was over four hours later before any more memories of that day would stay with me. The next time I woke I was in my bed. I still had on my coat, boots and gloves. Oti was right there, her chin on my chest, staring at me intently. I had no idea how we had got there and still don't.
I managed to sit up and stared about me in shock. There was blood everywhere. Everything was covered in mud and blood. I had left a trail. How had I gotten home? That question still haunts me.
Once again, I was unable to stand. My ankle was huge. The swelling showed even through all my winter gear. This time when I woke, I crawled to the bath to start cleaning up. Oti never left my side. She was still on her leash. I stared at her in awe. Somehow she had gotten us both safely home.
When I finally got my clothes off I discovered my hands, knees, shins and elbows were severely scraped, torn and bruised. It was obvious I had crawled a long way on that trip home. My ankle was a throbbing mass of pain that I had to ignore just a little while longer.
Oti faithfully brought my gown when I was clean and bandaged. I made it to the phone and was unable to reach anyone for help at that time. Every time I tried to stand, I passed out. I believed it was the pain in my ankle that was causing it. I got Oti fresh food and water. Then I fell asleep on the floor by her bowls.
The rest of that day is a blur. I remember waking often without the strength to move. I kept falling back to sleep with Oti guarding my every breath. I was comforted by her presence.
The next day my aunt took me to the hospital where I found out I not only had a badly sprained ankle and all the scrapes, cuts and bruises, but I also had a concussion. I was stunned.
To this day I do not know how I got home that morning, almost a quarter of a mile in a storm so heavy I could not see lights fifty feet away, and in the shape I was in. I would have frozen. I don't believe I would have made it without my fuzzy angel to guide me, protect me and love me every inch of the way. I believe my grandmother knew what she was doing when she gave me that fuzzy little puppy in 1992.
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10-22-2000
I wrote that story last night while thinking of my grandparents. I have loved them so very much my whole life. This morning my brother called. He said my grandfather had died yesterday. Is that why I wrote the story when I did? I don't know. My grandmother once gave me an angel to watch over me. Now my grandfather is with his angel, the love of his life. I think I will go take a walk with Oti now.
Use the links below to see more of my grandfather's poetry. Fuzzy Angel is a story I wrote when remembering my grandparents.
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