Sheri Wren Haymore
Author
Just yesterday, while we visited a newly opened winery, I watched our sweet little blind dog, Cercie, as she wandered at the end of her leash, smelling all the delightful new smells. I wondered, what does she think about? What does she remember about the years of her life with us? Since she came to us in 2013, my husband and I have lost all four of our parents, a brother-in-law, and dear friends. Does Cercie wonder where those people went? Does she miss how our friend, Don, always told her, “Cute got you a long way, Cercie!” Does she miss the doggie friends she used to play with?
And what about all the things she’s experienced during her life with us? Does she remember hiking to waterfalls, kayaking the river, riding in our fishing boat, and playing with the shrimp we caught? Does she remember shucking her harness and running away at the beach because the waves scared her? I suppose, if nothing else, all those experiences taught her to trust and depend on us as she lost her vision at an early age.
I’ve written about Cercie before. She came to our family at the end of the camping season on the New River near Galax, Virginia. We, and the co-owners of our property, Don and Carolyn, had a big project to complete involving moving nine tons of rock by hand from a huge pile onto our eroded riverbank. That morning, this scrappy, filthy, matted little dog had followed Don and his two dogs back from their walk. Meanwhile, my big, strong, husband— who is never sick— was struck down with a stomach bug and was so sick he couldn’t move from the bed in the camper. All day, while the three upright adults moved rocks, that scrappy little dog joyfully ran circles, disappearing at times, then returning. She wouldn’t let anyone touch her, but she mostly stayed close by. There was no one around to claim her and, as I said, it was the end of the season.
When darkness came, she hid underneath our camper. At bedtime, I couldn’t leave the sickly little dog in the cold mountain air all night, so I crawled under the camper, grabbed her, hauled her out, and plopped her inside. A pallet made from a beach towel and my jacket was probably the closest thing to a bed she’d ever had. That dog did not move or make a sound all night.
The next morning, my husband awoke feeling completely renewed, and quite unaware of all that had transpired the previous day. When he got up, I said, “Don’t step on Little Bit there.” “Little bit of what?” he asked. At that moment, the dog lifted her head from her pallet and the rest is history. Carolyn named her Cercie, from an old expression meaning “a surprise gift.”
My wise daughter, Carrie Wren, says that you can’t plan for serendipity, but you must be present and open to accept goodness when it happens. Serendipity is when events come together to create a happy outcome. Don’s morning walk; our project that had us working all day with a noisy activity that kept curious Cercie returning to see what was going on; my husband’s illness that didn’t give him a chance to complain when I brought a flea-bitten mutt inside the camper. All these things conspired to bring about the happy addition of little one-year-old Cercie to our pack.
When I asked Carrie Wren for an example of serendipity, she immediately had a story to share. Recently, she led a group on a retreat near Lucca, Italy. On a free day, she and a few members of the group decided to walk to a hilltop olive farm, which offered tastings of their olive oil and was known to have an adjacent restaurant. It was a longer walk than anticipated. After learning about and sampling the oil produced on the farm, the group was hungry, but the restaurant was not open for lunch that day.
What would you have done in that situation? It was a long hike back to town. One member of the group, noticing that the chef and one server were bustling about inside the restaurant, prepping for the evening meal, took a chance. He knocked on the door and asked the chef, “Could we perhaps purchase a charcuterie board? We’ll be happy to eat under the tree over there.” After conferring with each other for a moment, the chef and server invited them all to come inside.
They were seated at a lovely table and the server brought wine produced on the farm, followed by a selection of the farm’s cheeses, along with salami, prosciutto, and other cured meats, all from the farm. This was followed by dish after dish of beautifully prepared foods, all created from the farm’s produce. The more their guests exclaimed with delight over the delicious food, the more the chef and server were pleased to treat them to the most memorable meal they had ever experienced.
Serendipity! If the restaurant had been open and filled with other patrons; if the walk hadn’t been so long; if no one had knocked on the door and asked— all the goodness of that experience would never have happened.
What I’m trying to say by sharing these two very different stories is this: as we enter the new year, let’s pay attention. There’s enough goodness in the world to go around. Sometimes, we simply have to notice. And although we can’t plan for unexpected events to come together, we can certainly take a chance and knock on a door when we see an opportunity or let a sickly little mutt come inside on a cold night.
