Well This is New (Or is it Old?)

Yesterday I had to run to the grocery store for a few items.  My legs and back were hurting, and I had a headache from the pain.  I could have asked Bryan to do the shopping for me, but he would have made the whole shopping trip into a sacrifice and would have talked about how much work he missed.  Don't get me wrong.  Bryan is willing to do pretty much anything to help me if I will only ask. But when I do ask I am always taking him away from his own life and work.  I am interrupting him. I don't ask for help from people very often because I don't like the big sighs and the questions that always follow my request.  And then there are statements like this, "If you really NEED me to go with you, I'll go, but I have work to do."  Or, "You've always done that by yourself before.  Can't you do it this time?"  I dislike these conversations.  I dislike feeling beholden and needy.  So instead of asking for help, I choose to bear the pain and just do it myself.

I have Ross, I tell myself.  He will help me.  And Ross does help.  He never asks questions.  He never tells me he's too busy.  And he ALWAYS wants more than anything to be with me. He doesn't know that I NEED him.  He doesn't care that I need him.  He just wants to be by my side.  This is one of the things I appreciate about service dogs and Ross in particular.  He's always there, always happy to serve, and there is never a need for explanations or long, exhausting conversations.

I was struggling in the produce department.  I found it hard to balance while walking between the cart and the displays of produce.  I found myself working one-handed.  One hand grasped Ross' harness while the other had to grab and open plastic bags and load the fruit and vegetables.  I felt the curious stares of the other customers.  Some of them were repulsed.  I felt shame, something I have not noticed feeling since I was a third grader running in the 25 yard dash in the school track meet.  The produce manager sneaked up behind me and said, "My name is Eddie, and I'm the manager of this department.  Do you need help?" I felt more shame.  He and I both knew that he wasn't asking me that to be helpful.  He was questioning me wanting to survey the situation and find out if I truly needed a dog in the store.  I told him that my dog and I would work it out.  I remembered with longing the days when I walked into a grocery store without a dog, without a walker, without a cane.  I remembered how thoughtless and easy life used to be.  While I sorted through the oranges I was weeping inside for the life I once had, and will never have again.  I was remembering the days when the produce managers were talking with me because they were flirting.

In my shame, I felt spasms that suddenly threw my body forward or backward.  My cart, me, and my dog blocked whole aisles in the store.  We were a spectacle.  I felt like a freak in a circus sideshow.  Next time I'll just grovel and ask Bryan to do the shopping because I never want to feel that way again.  It just may be easier to spend 15 minutes explaining why I used to be able to go to the store, but now I can't.  I now have to choose between humiliations.

What I couldn't help but notice was Ross.  He wasn't feeling shame or embarrassment.  He was with the girl he loves.  He walked straight and tall, head slightly down, tail parallel with the floor.  He was working hard and with all his heart.  He was happy and proud to be with me.  He was proud of his harness and proud of his work.

I wish people were more like dogs.  I wish I felt pride in my work instead of stinging shame.  May God make me more like Ross.