Visitation

The golden moments in the stream of life rush past us
And we see nothing but sand;
The angels come to visit us,
And we only know them when they are gone.
~George Elliot

My nephew recently posted an article on Facebook about St. Bernard dogs and how they are known as the Alpine Rescue Dog. St. Bernards are often portrayed wearing small barrels of brandy around their necks. The brandy was supposedly used to warm the lost victims of snowstorms and avalanche found by the dogs.

I couldn't let that one go without commenting. I think I quipped something like, "What about the rest of us skiers? What do we get? Just because we're not lost! Where's our brandy? We have to resort to stowing a flask under a pine tree somewhere on the ski slopes, and good luck finding it again."

While I was thinking about the subject, I decided to google St. Bernards to see just why they were so good at alpine rescue. It was discovered by monks at the hospice at the Great St Bernard Pass in Switzerland in the 1700's, that because of the heroic dogs' uncanny sense of direction, resistance to cold, tremendous sense of smell, and ability to discover people buried deep in the snow, they could be sent out in packs of two or three alone to seek lost or injured travelers in the snowy mountains. Often the dogs would find the victim, dig through the snow and lie on top of the injured to provide warmth. Meanwhile, the other dog would return to the outpost to alert the humans of the stranded pilgrim. Sounds like Lassie times three, doesn't it?

Then I found that the whole legendary flask strapped around the dog's collar and brimming with delicious brandy to warm the stranded traveler and pull him back from certain frozen death is pretty much undocumented. But, heck, I still buy it. Without the little barrel of brandy, I think the story loses much of its charm.

Reading about the St. Bernard and contemplating the various instinctive qualities of certain breeds of dogs jogged a memory of mine. I was thinking about the very large dogs and how some of them are referred to as gentle giants, many without much instinct to attack in these modern times. Yet, their formidable size and powerful bark will scare the wits out of any burglar or, for that matter, anyone else who isn't used to their sheer massive presence, latent muscular force, and rumbling growl that could probably vibrate the furniture. And, gentle and friendly though they are, some will aggressively protect their family, especially children. Hence, many larger breeds make good guard dogs and great protectors.

So, wind back the clock to my children's young years. It was another choir rehearsal night and I was due there at 7:30 to accompany the choir. During dinner I had decided to leave the children at home this particular night. Joanna had much homework yet to finish, and Paul was sick. It was a cold winter night, and although I didn't like the thought of leaving them home alone, I thought they would be better off. Joanna could get her homework finished instead of wasting an hour in travel time, and instead of going out into the cold, Paul could get in bed early and get some much needed sleep.

As I wrung out the dishcloth and was putting the kitchen to bed for the night, I heard this great baying out in the side yard. I went to the window and looked out. The light from the dining room shown out across the lawn and I saw two great dogs standing on our patio. They were barking and glancing at the house from time to time. These weren't yelping yappy yips. These were deep reverberating bellows loud enough to wake the dead. "Great!" I thought to myself. "That's all I need is for these two to frighten the kids just when I'm ready to leave them alone for the evening."

I watched them and wondered where they had come from. I had never seen them before, and I knew they didn't belong to any of the neighbors. They didn't act particularly menacing, but they were so BIG!

I called the kids to the window and showed them the dogs. The three of us looked out into the night, our noses practically pressed against the cold windowpanes and our breath making frost on the glass. "What are they doing here?" Joanna asked.

"I don't know, I've never seen them before, have you?" They both assured me they hadn't. "But they can't hurt you. When I leave, I am locking the doors, and dogs can't unlock and open doors. So just ignore them and get your homework done. And, Paul, make sure you get to bed early tonight and take care of that bad cold. That's the only reason I'm leaving you home tonight!"

After I reminded them to not answer the door, not answer the phone, and call the church if they needed anything (no cell phones back then), I hugged and kissed them goodbye and left. When I crossed the side yard on my way out to the garage, I didn't see the dogs. "Good," I thought. "Maybe they've moved on."

At church I tried to keep one ear out listening for the office telephone. But there were no calls and at the end of the two-hour rehearsal I started for home instead of heading out to the grill with the choir.

As I pulled into the driveway, I scanned the yard for the dogs, but didn't see a thing. As I hurried down the walk toward the house, I looked all around the moonlit yard and up at the starry cold sky. Nothing stirred and there was not a sound nor any sign of the giant pair of dogs.

Inside the house all was quiet and peaceful. I tip-toed into Paul's room. He was fast asleep and I kissed his warm forehead, smelling his hair and silently saying the prayer I usually said as I tucked him into bed. Then I moved on to Joanna's room. She was in bed but wide awake.

I sat on the edge of her bed. "Is everything okay? Did you get your homework finished?"

"Yes. And I read Paul a story before bed and he got to sleep early." I smiled. What a little mother she is.

"And what about the dogs? Did they leave as I left because I didn't see them," I asked her.

"No, Mom. They came up on the front porch."

"They did?" I asked, a little alarmed. This was news to me. "What did they do? Were you and Paul afraid?"

"No, because they didn't bark or anything. And they sat one on each side of the front door. And they were looking out at the yard, like they were watching for something.

As this information sunk in, I thought for a minute, looking into Joanna's big dark eyes in the semi-darkness. They showed no fright at all, just thoughtfulness, as did mine.

"Almost as if they were guarding the house?" I asked.

She nodded yes. "And us," she added, after a pause.

"Hmmm," I said. "That is really interesting, isn't it? When did they leave, then?"

"They left just before you got home. I just now got in bed," she smiled, like as if she was confessing getting away with staying up late but knew I wouldn't be mad.

Wow. Those dogs were guarding my children for me. Guardian angel dogs. They were sent there for a purpose and when that purpose was over, they left with it. We never saw them again.

Flash back to the present. The next morning on Instant Message, I asked Joanna if she saw her cousin's Facebook post about the St. Bernard. I asked, "Do you remember those two dogs that guarded the house back when you and Paul were little and I had to leave you home from choir?"

"Yes!" she typed. "I had almost totally forgotten about them. But yes, I remember now."

"What kind of dogs were they? Do you remember what they looked like?" I remembered they looked almost identical. Great big dogs with massive heads and shaggy coats of fur. But Joanna didn't remember shaggy. She sent me a picture from online of what she remembered. It was a Great Dane. We even checked with Paul and his memory matched hers. So much for my shaggy coats. But then Jo and Paul got a better look at the dogs after I had left for choir. They saw them right outside the front door with the porch light shining on them.

I typed, "It's interesting, isn't it? How they kept watch over the house while I was gone and then disappeared right before I came back."

"Yes," Joanna typed. "And it's even more interesting now to wonder what kind of evil mischief lurked in our neighborhood that night!"

"Yes, indeed," I thought as a chill tingled down my spine. I felt a funny kind of gratefulness to those heroic rescue dogs whose very brief visit became a part of our history. Perhaps tonight I'll pour a brandy and toast the two dogs who protected my darlings.