Chapel Talk Essay Example For Students

Chapel Talk Essay Good morning. I dont think I can even begin to relate just how terrifying this is, so heres what Im gonna do instead; Ill mumble, speak much too quickly, avoid all eye contact, and use overly-dramatic hand gestures. And since its too early in the morning and school year to picture any of you naked, thisll have to do. In my lifetime, my family has owned and sheltered over one hundred and fifty dogs, cats, horses, goats, sheep, and various other species. My residence has acted as both a foster home and a rehab center for any animal we could make room for. Most stay with us permanently, but we havent been lucky enough to help every animal weve come across. But the bliss of the successful adoptions greatly overshadows the disappointment of those unsuccessful. It really all began with my mother. Having grown up in a city, she didnt have the luxury of pets until she had a house of her own. She soon made up for all the animals she didnt have as child three times over. She taught my siblings, myself, and even my father to respect and adore our fellow mammals. But even she has her favorites, and so weve owned more dogs than anything else. Her absolute favorite, (and everybody elses), was Breda. Breda, (who was, incidentally, named after a mispronunciation of a German town), was a German Shepard/ keeshond mix, and the first dog my parents adopted when they moved into their first house back in 1978. It was three years before Breda gave justice to her breed, fiercely guarding, or sheparding, if you will, my newborn sister as if it were her own. Her most incredible feat involved my little brother, Myles. Since both my parents work full-time, my sister, brother, and I were juggled among multiple babysitters. The one who was watching us when Myles was just under two years old made the horrendous mistake of staying on the phone long enough for him to toddle quite a few miles away from the house, down long, winding roads, fast cars, sharp turns, and everything else you could possiblly imagine. While my mother was at work, she received a phone call from a not-so-nearby neighbor, informing her of my brothers little odyssey. It turned out that Breda had followed Myles closer than his own shadow, all the while trying to steer him back towards the house. She wasnt successful in these attempts, but it appeared that the only was our neighbor were able to recognize my brother, who was a fairly new addition, and know whom to deliver him to, was Breda. The woman knew who the dog was, just not the baby it was following. Breda lived another fourteen wonderful years before succumbing to a spinal condition hereditary to many German Shepards. Chloe was a genuine freak of nature. Chloe was also one of the few animals that my family hadnt needed to rescue. She was adopted as a kitten by my parents around the same time as Breda. She died six months ago at the ripe old age of twenty-two. But that isnt the only thing that made her unique. Chloe somehow managed to outlive feline leukemia, an overactive thyroid, deafness, cancer, kidney problems, and a quarter-of-a-decades worth of being chased around by canines twenty times her size. I remember that when I used to call home, I could tell what room the person who answered the phone was in judging by Chloes incessant meowing. Rusty, a Germ an Shepard /Collie mix, was abandoned in a boggy salt marsh in southern Canada, in the middle of one of the coldest winters on record, when he was only two weeks old. For anyone who isnt familiar with a marsh, its basically large tracks of rather barren, open land with sporadically placed craters thatre filled with mud and cold sea water. I was never told exactly how anyone found him in such a desolate, isolated wasteland, but it goes without saying he was quite alone in the world. It took months of treats and numerous bites of which I still bare the scars before he would even allow me to approach him. Genuine Ticket and Lotta Funs Best, who are commonly known as Ticket and Best, are two of the seven horses my family owns, and some of the thirty-something horses we board. They were both racehorses, a breed known as thoroughbreds, which were scheduled to be sold at horsemeat auctions once their racing careers were over. Best was a horse of average ranking in the race circuit, but he clearly wasnt made for it. His temper was erratic and he often refused to race once he reached the starting gates. Such disobedience wasnt tolerated, so his career and life were about to be terminated. Ticket was a well-mannered mare of significant capabilities. Though she showed promise, she was so mild that the other horses often manhandled her. This led to an ankle injury which is not only fatal for a racing profession, but for any horse. Even after my mother adopted Ticket, we feared that she might have to be euthanized. Luckily, she pulled through, and with a strict regiment of exercises and medicine, she can now be used for riding lessons. I dont think Joey ever had a more formal show name, but you wouldnt have known by looking at him. When I was twelve, my mother decided to get a horse of her own, and found Joey. At the time he was twenty-five, but still magnificent. In his prime, Joey was an internationally ranked jumping champion. In past years, he was worth a small fortune , but due to a compassionate owner, was never sold until he retired with us. He was bony but sweet, talented, and the best horse Ive ever met. He used to even let some of our barn cats sleep on his back while he ate. When he was twenty-seven, he slipped on a patch of ice and tore a ligament in his left rear leg. It was severe, and even with surgery, he would still have been lame. Being old and having lived a good life, we decided that it was in Joeys best interests to be let go. This all happened right before I moved to Groton, and he is still buried under the barn at our old house. Guy was a purebred German Shepard that we adopted when he was three years old. He had been abused for so long, he maintained bad habits that were almost impossible to break at his age. For example, Guy often became excited, usually by running, laughing, screaming and what not. He would become extremely violent, though he wasnt a hostile or aggressive dog by nature. He just didnt know any better. Guys pre vious owner was an old, invalid woman who was incapable of taking proper care of him. Consequently, Guy was tightly chained to a tree for the entire three years she had owned him. At times he would go so long without food that he would chew on nearby rocks, and had worn down his teeth almost to the gums. One day a few years after we adopted Guy, a neighbor was walking up our driveway towards the house. Guy didnt recognize her and became excited at the sight of a stranger. The situation got out of hand, and Guy somehow bit a large chunk of flesh out of the girls thigh. She was understandably hysterical when she was rushed to the emergency room, and her parents demanded that Guy be destroyed immediately. I wasnt at home at the time, and so I never got a chance to say goodbye. .ub80197e03a8966a94bceea4d926526ff , .ub80197e03a8966a94bceea4d926526ff .postImageUrl , .ub80197e03a8966a94bceea4d926526ff .centered-text-area { min-height: 80px; position: relative; } .ub80197e03a8966a94bceea4d926526ff , .ub80197e03a8966a94bceea4d926526ff:hover , .ub80197e03a8966a94bceea4d926526ff:visited , .ub80197e03a8966a94bceea4d926526ff:active { border:0!important; } .ub80197e03a8966a94bceea4d926526ff .clearfix:after { content: ""; display: table; clear: both; } .ub80197e03a8966a94bceea4d926526ff { display: block; transition: background-color 250ms; webkit-transition: background-color 250ms; width: 100%; opacity: 1; transition: opacity 250ms; webkit-transition: opacity 250ms; background-color: #95A5A6; } .ub80197e03a8966a94bceea4d926526ff:active , .ub80197e03a8966a94bceea4d926526ff:hover { opacity: 1; transition: opacity 250ms; webkit-transition: opacity 250ms; background-color: #2C3E50; } .ub80197e03a8966a94bceea4d926526ff .centered-text-area { width: 100%; position: relative ; } .ub80197e03a8966a94bceea4d926526ff .ctaText { border-bottom: 0 solid #fff; color: #2980B9; font-size: 16px; font-weight: bold; margin: 0; padding: 0; text-decoration: underline; } .ub80197e03a8966a94bceea4d926526ff .postTitle { color: #FFFFFF; font-size: 16px; font-weight: 600; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 100%; } .ub80197e03a8966a94bceea4d926526ff .ctaButton { background-color: #7F8C8D!important; color: #2980B9; border: none; border-radius: 3px; box-shadow: none; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 26px; moz-border-radius: 3px; text-align: center; text-decoration: none; text-shadow: none; width: 80px; min-height: 80px; background: url(https://artscolumbia.org/wp-content/plugins/intelly-related-posts/assets/images/simple-arrow.png)no-repeat; position: absolute; right: 0; top: 0; } .ub80197e03a8966a94bceea4d926526ff:hover .ctaButton { background-color: #34495E!important; } .ub80197e03a8966a94bceea4d926526ff .centered-text { display: table; height: 80px; padding-left : 18px; top: 0; } .ub80197e03a8966a94bceea4d926526ff .ub80197e03a8966a94bceea4d926526ff-content { display: table-cell; margin: 0; padding: 0; padding-right: 108px; position: relative; vertical-align: middle; width: 100%; } .ub80197e03a8966a94bceea4d926526ff:after { content: ""; display: block; clear: both; } READ: Causes of binge drinking Essay Kane, (as in Citizen Kane), was a two-year-old St. Bernard that was found abandoned in an apartment in Brooklyn. My mother loves big dogs especially, and Kane soon was a welcome addition to our rather large family. Kane also had the same behavioral disorder that Guy had, except he had hip displacure. Since Kanes condition rendered him almost completely immobile, we thought him to be an idle threat. I wasnt home again when Kane went on a literal killing-spree, destroying several goats and sheep. When I did return home, Kane had already been put to sleep, and the vet was in process of putting down a sheep that had been torn to pieces but wasnt quite dead. As Ive described at length, the rehabilitation of a rescued animal is a long, time-consuming, and strenuous process. The older the animal is, the harder, longer, and more unlikely rehabilitation is. Sadly enough, shelters that receive any financial aid from any federal branch are forced to euthanize and overcrowd their animals as contingencies. Those who rebuke such practices, commonly known as no-kill shelters, are often forced to rely on donations, adoption fees, and even their own money to provide the most basic of care. Under funded and overcrowded, they are indirectly punished for their humanity. Over the years, Ive had to clean up after more animals than Id care to remember. Not once do I ever remember being thanked. We even had to resort to child-safety barriers and heavy-duty locks, which were the only ones the dogs couldnt break, in order to deter them from mutilating the rest of house that didnt have a tiled floor. The doors we use most often have deep, jagged claw marks that vary in height as the dog that made them grew. And these are only a hint of all the unpleasant experiences Ive gone through because of my animals. Oddly enough, I grieved more at the deaths of the animals Id loved all my life than I had for the grandparents Id never known. To know an undying love thats undeserved, yet still given faifthfully, is to know an unparallel happiness that I can only hope all of you can one day share.