Part 2 My German Shepard

Everyday, through the media, we are informed of one tragedy or another. Seems that nothing whets the inquisitive appetite like the suffering of others. Murders, rapes, children molested, not to mention the wars we fight in the name of peace, or better still, God. Thousands dying, undeservedly leaving behind loved ones to suffer the agony of the loss.

I have known the agony. I have felt the loss. I have been torn apart by the unexpected and violent loss of a dear loved one. I am not the only one. I know that I do not have the sorrow market, cornered. I am not that far removed from reality. Nonetheless, it is my own pain that I am forced to endure. If I were to feel the pain of others, as strongly as I feel my own, I would not survive. Just as I could never expect anyone else to feel my pain, or to empathize with where my life has taken me. I claim it myself. Not without dignity, but with a selfish and ruthless heart no doubt.

I am the center of my own universe. If a neighbor chops off his own hand while mowing his lawn, I would flinch, I would understand that he is hurting, but I do not feel his pain, I can only imagine his pain. Conversely, if I were to shut my finger in a door, I would scream and curse, and cry out. I am the sole receiver of my pain. I must therefore deal with my pain in whatever way brings me the most relief. I cannot stand back and take measure of the affect my relief has on you. I can only be attentive to the relief I feel, nothing more.

If a German Shepard were to have killed your child, would you not want to kill the German Shepard? Would that be enough? Surely not. Perhaps if you killed a hundred German Shepard's the pain would lessen. Maybe though, the relief brought on by vengeance would only be temporary. Perhaps you'd have to continue to kill German Shepard's every time you felt the remembered agony of your loss, if only to feel better yourself, for a moment. Would you then be concerned every time about the family that loved the dog? No, only the horror of your loss would be in your mind. The horror of your loss, and the temporary relief of some imagined payback.

The root cause of my own torment was delivered, not by a German Shepard, but by a drunken, broken, predatory hand of a weak man. A man that was not worthy of respect, in either life or death. He abused and tortured women and children but smiled and lied when in the face of men.

For years, as a boy and into my adult life, I have watched his kind of dirt. I've seen many, everywhere I've gone. Nearly every broken home has such a character. A human Hyena, preying on the weaker, the sicker, the defenseless. I studied and got to know this type of human slime and my hatred grew with my understanding. I was tormented with the idea that these types walked the same streets I walked, breathed the very air that I breathed. I became insanely frustrated, knowing I couldn't change the world.

Then, it came to me...