Our life and duties with The Salvation Army in France necessitated
travel – particularly in summer when we oversaw a series of summer camps. There were about eight camps in all operating
in a variety of sites around the country. Some of them rented fixed
facilities. Some of them rented a
property and pitched tents. Each camp
was run by a certified director and followed a pedagogical program that was
reviewed by the National Office in Paris and approved by the French government. The role of the French government in
approving the camp, its program and its staff meant that families could use bons de vacances, or payment coupons,
issued by the French Social Services with family allowance cheques to offset
the cost of registration.
So it was that we prepared to set off on our tour of France to visit
the camps. The plan was to go to the far
south-east to visit a scouting camp, work our way back up through the Midi
(south) of France near the Mediterranean to visit our centre at Chausses and
then up to the area around Le Chambon where a couple of other camps were
underway and then continue on to Alsace near the German border where another
camp operated. We would stop in to
encourage the camp staff to see how things were going. We had no illusions that our visits added
much to the program, but they did, we hoped; indicate our support of and
interest in the camp program and the investment of time and energy by the
staff.
Just north of Lyon, on about the fourth day we stopped for a lunch
break in a picnic spot on the Autoroute A6.
Beau had been unleashed and was busy rummaging about the
campgrounds. Time was of the essence. We
had to get going, so Beau had to be reined in.
John volunteered to do the trick and reached out his hand as Beau tore
by. He nearly grabbed his collar, but
the near miss meant that John’s finger was twisted back and, as we later
discovered, broken. A detour to the hospital in Beaune, the nearest city, was
necessary. Elizabeth had been left
behind at a camp to visit some friends, so we set off to the hospital in
Beaune, an ancient city with some marvellous medieval architecture.
It was hot – about 36 degrees Celsius (97 degrees Fahrenheit) so we
parked the car in the shade, tied Beau up to the back of the car with a dish of
water and went into the hospital. John
was taken in, the hand x-rayed and the decision made to operate to set the
finger. As things inched along in true
French bureaucratic fashion, Glen decided that he should go out and make sure
that Beau was okay – the sun might have shifted, or his water might be
gone. Imagine his horror when he arrived
at the car and found Beau gone. The
leash was hanging limp from the trailer hitch on the car bumper. Where was
he? Was he safe?
Distraught, Glen returned to the hospital, walking up to the doors
that opened automatically with an electric eye.
He did not look forward to telling me more bad news on top of the
difficulties that had befallen John. Out
of the corner of his eye, he saw the emergency ward – curtains defining the
various cubicles where patients waited for care. From behind one curtain he noticed a furry
white tail. Then he saw a reddish-brown
dog going from bed to bed. As he
continued to walk the realization hit him.
That was Beau – going from bed to bed looking for John. Once again he dared not speak – this was not
the time to call Beau in English.
Beau finished his visit without finding John – he had been moved to
an operating room by then – and came out.
Glen grabbed him quickly and shepherded him back out to the car – only
this time he stayed right with him for a while.
We were amazed and shocked.
But the dog seemed to take it naturally in his stride. He was a member of the family and one of the
family members was in hospital. It was only appropriate that he assume his duty
as a member of the tribe. We were unable
to do a customer survey of other patients who had been visited and we got him
out of the hospital before any of the staff had an opportunity to speak to us
about his creative work.
As it turned out, the noble dog was ahead of the wave. Thirteen years later in Fletcher Allen Health
Centre in Burlington, Vermont, John’s first arm motion after the car accident
in which he broke his neck was to stroke the dog that came to the Surgical ICU
unit to visit the patients there. The
hunter-retriever makes a great visitor.
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| Word Guild Award 2011 |
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| Word Guild Award 2009 |
