Be Like BESSIE!

Be Like Bessie!

“Adopt the pace of nature: her secret is patience.”―Ralph Waldo Emerson

A few days each week during the winter I work in a giant laboratory studying the behavior of vast numbers of people. My specific areas of interest are the characteristics of patience and kindness while in pursuit of happiness and outdoor adventure. More specifically, I am a greeter at a New England ski area. From this vantage point I have face-to-face contact with hundreds of men, women and children of all ages. The stories my colleagues and I collect could fill a book. (Hey, that’s an idea!)

One of a Greeter’s responsibilities, beyond welcoming guests and answering basic questions, is to be sure each visitor’s wait in the line to purchase lift tickets is as short as possible, hopefully no more that 7-15 minutes on the most crowded days. This is no mean feat in the age of data collection required for the issuance of a re-usable RFID card that can be detected by a scanner in the pocket of even the most high tech parka. We also draw the short straw sometimes and have to facilitate traffic flow in the “drop off” area. If the entire ski area is the laboratory, then this particular area is the active Petri dish. . Maybe we should put up a sign that says, “Remember! Children are watching and listening.”

If I was looking to hire people to build a team for a task that required intense, cooperative effort in a stressful situation, I’d insist on seeing videos of how these job candidates handled their cars, friends, family and Greeters in the “drop off” area. Surely I’d learn more than any resume or interview could reveal.

Since we Greeters spend most of our time managing ticket lines, that’s where the best stories come from. Just the other day a person was in such a hurry to get his ticket that instead of walking through the short, simple, ten-foot, back and forth maze to the ticket window, this “gentleman” ducked under the ropes to take a more direct route, knocking over several stanchions, which he did not fix. He may have saved a full three seconds getting to the ticket window. I just smiled at him sympathetically. You know, one of those smiles that says, “I hope you get better soon.”

We greeters pick up a wonderful assortment of sound bites or snippets from the hundreds of conversations that swirl around us. My all-time favorite came from two brothers, strolling past with their arms on each other’s shoulders. The older brother looked at his younger sibling and said, “Hey, your wife’s happy and your girlfriend’s happy. I think everything is going to be fine.” Then they disappeared into the crowd leaving me with a number of questions that will forever go unanswered.

I’ve been thinking of asking management to position a large video screen in the ticket line waiting area showing highlights of good and bad behavior of guests collected over the course of the winter season. We would obscure the faces to prevent law suits, but the instructional value would be powerful…and highly entertaining.

Most people waiting in line to purchase tickets fall into one of three categories:

Group A. “I am too important to have to wait in line with all of these other people. Can’t you do something?”

Group B. “It’s too bad the wait is so long. Have you considered ways that might make things move more efficiently?”

Group C. “I’m not at work, I’m in a beautiful place and eventually we are going to have a great day on the slopes.”

The hybrid of groups B and C is my personal favorite. By the way, guests can purchase their tickets online at a reduced price and eliminate or greatly shorten their wait in line. It’s a reward for those thoughtful people who plan ahead. Let’s call this Group S for smart.

So how does this all tie in with BESSIE’S STORY? It’s simple. Bessie is the model of patience. She’ll stand with her nose to a door calmly and peacefully if she wants to go outside. When it’s time for breakfast or dinner Bessie sits like an angel without barking, whining or grumbling. In her dark, fragrant world she somehow just knows that we’re going to do the best we can to take care of her needs. When we are going somewhere in the car she’ll hop in and sit calmly as long as necessary. Very few people can follow her example of poise and good manners. The only time Bessie ever acts or behaves as if she is the most important piece of the puzzle is when someone is playing retrieving games with her. She can be a little antsy during these times, but we understand.

I’ve said it before. The best way to make friends and influence people is to BE LIKE BESSIE. It’s not as easy as it sounds.

August 16, 2023

Watching the Lights Go Out

August 16, 2023/ Tom Farmen

Dying is a troublesome business: there is pain to be suffered, and it wrings one’s heart; but death is a splendid thing―a warfare accomplished, a beginning all over again, a triumph. You can always see that in their faces.―George Bernard Shaw

Euthanizing a dog is at the same time a nightmare and a sweet dream filled with touching memories of a short life well lived, and as with most important things in life, any attempt to minimize its impact is a mistake. People get bereavement leave for deaths in the family, but we are expected to lose our pets stoically, or on weekends. This doesn’t make sense when you are in the middle of such a passing.

When parents pass away there is profound sorrow, but often parents and their adult children are separated by life experiences and distance. It’s sad and deeply painful, of course, but there is a natural rhythm to these transitions. When pets die, and certainly in our case dogs, it’s a different deal. Ashley and I have sent four off so far.

Bessie’s predecessor, Bow, was also a chocolate Lab. Before Bessie he was the best who ever owned us. When Bow, a cancer survivor, was ready to call it quits at eleven years old he walked calmly and with dignity into our front yard in subzero temperatures and lay down in the snow. Nothing could revive his spirit, not even cookies, which in his prime could be used to get Bow to do anything. He had made up his mind that he was done. When we took him to the vet, I just knew Bow understood what came next. Holding his face softly in my hands, I looked in his beautiful brown eyes and spoke gently to him as the doctor administered the lethal, painless injection. Suddenly, the lights in his eyes went out. Just like that. It was as if a switch had been thrown. Bow was gone.

I was comforted in a weird way by the fact that when old Bow left this world the face and voice of someone who loved him were his last earthly memories before the journey to doggie heaven, or wherever. He did not travel alone. The experience is as vivid today as it was all those years ago and I am glad to have made his death so intimate and personal. You only get one chance at these things, you know. I was at my mother’s bedside for her final, rattling breath and I’m glad.

I thought often about what it would be like for Bessie? The hardest thing to imagine was this sweet dog limping and struggling to retrieve her ball when she could no longer see it or hear it drop. I’d shake my head just thinking about it because she was so damn resilient that I knew she would somehow figure out a solution…until that day.

Until that day when Bessie sent us a signal that she was ready to fold her tent. Until that day when she was tired of running into things and searching for balls and toys that were finally just too hard to track down. Until that day when carrying the extra stress and strain, multiplied by her handicaps, was too much for her. Until that day when she was exhausted from watching out for us and shouldering a spirit that was finally so heavy it weighed her down and those strong, steady legs buckled.

On Friday, August 11, Bessie enjoyed a successful presentation, charming the residents at Quail Hollow, a retirement community in Lebanon, NH. That afternoon she savored a three mile walk in the woods, off the leash, sniffing all the interesting things along the way. She topped off the day by cleaning her bowl at dinner and slept calmly through the night. Over the next few days a drastic change occurred, and by Monday the dear old girl couldn’t stand up, wouldn’t eat or drink and had become unresponsive. A visit to the vet confirmed our worst fears. Bess was letting go after fourteen years, eight of them in complete darkness.

Before Bessie departed our world on August 14th, I held her face in my hands, looked straight into her sightless eyes and talked to her in my most intimate dog voice. I told her what a blessing she’d been for us, how much value she added to our lives and how lucky we are that she picked us to take her home all those years ago. And then, when the vet gave her an injection, even in those white, empty eyes I could see her lights go out as she took her final, deep breath. She was on her way.

Though this blog ends describing Bessie’s death, Bessie’s Story is fully and enthusiastically about living life. Bessie unknowingly flooded me with daily reminders that each of us alone is in charge of our spirit and outlook. We can think of ourselves as poor, weak victims of unlucky turns, or the happy celebrants and survivors of life’s endless challenges and tests. Our girl is my hero, plain and simple. I am endlessly inspired by her enormous strength and embarrassed by my comparative, lame weakness.

When my body and mind tell me it’s time to let go, I hope someone I love will hold my face in their hands, look into my eyes and speak soothingly. It’s selfish, of course, but for a fleeting moment I might have a glimpse of what Bessie knew when her lights went out for good. Not a bad way to leave the dance floor, don’t you think?

Thank you to all who follow Bessie’s Story with love and affection. Not sure where we go from here.

BE LIKE BESSIE

bessiesstory.com

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