Communication

Are Some Marriages Doomed to Fail?

No relationship is “doomed” to fail. I believe each person, through his decisions and actions, determines how happy and fulfilling his life will be. And I believe this holds true for married couples. I’m not big on fate or astrology. I’m big on personal responsibility.

Now, having said that, if two people with very little in common, who have spent very little time together race off to Vegas and get married, the chances of their marriage succeeding are not as great as the couple that has taken the time to know each other and who share many things in common.

I’m not against people meeting and having such a compassionate first week that they are absolutely compelled to tie the knot right away. I find that exceptionally adventurous. And I would never say such a couple is “doomed” to fail. With the right tools, every marriage can succeed.

How much should one know about a possible spouse-to-be prior to getting married? That depends on what each person considers important. Religion is extremely important to some and completely insignificant to others. Some consider opposing political beliefs a deal-breaker. How about each person’s ambition? Does the wife-to-be wish to have a full-fledged career and perhaps a child 15 years down the road? Does the husband-to-be want to continue in his current job that takes him out of town two weeks of every month?

It’s probably a good idea to talk over the main issues. The more things you share in common, the more points of agreement (and strength) you’ll have going in.

What if you’re married and you didn’t take the time to really sort these things out? Not to worry. It’s never too late to communicate. There is an earlier post on married couples setting goals. That will help.

A successful marriage is based on a few very key fundamentals. One of these is communication. The answer is always going to be in the area of more communication, not less.

Can a Pet Help a Marriage Succeed?

We're all familiar with the emails that make their way around the net that tell a story compelling enough for us to forward the email along to our friends. Some of these emails tell a hilarious story; some inspire us to do something kind, compassionate or perhaps even adventurous. We do love stories!

Well, today I received one of those emails and it was about a very grumpy father (in his 60s) and his daughter's attempt to bring some joy and peace of mind to her dad. And as the title of this post suggests, it was about a pet.

Now, I realize not everyone is a pet lover. And I certainly respect that. I grew up without any pets in the house and I always felt I missed out on something. So when I got my own place (a beat-up apartment above a restaurant that had fabulous French Fries), one of the first things I did was get a dog. It wasn't a pure bred, but he sure didn't know it, and he and I had a fabulous relationship.

Some years later, my fiance and I were sitting outside chatting away when a stray dog came by and befriended us. We gave the little fella a bit to eat and she decided right there on the spot that we were an acceptable couple for her new home. (Yes, we tried to find her owners but were not successful.)

My wife and I have been married now for 28 years and during that entire time, we have almost always had a wonderful pet, sometimes two. Our daughter was thrilled whenever there were puppies and/or kittens to take care of.

For me personally, I really enjoy the friendship that can exist between a dog and a person. And I'm sure for others a cat or even a bird can bring a great friendship into being.

But I also observed a very interesting effect a pet had on my marriage. My wife and I love dogs and this was a strong point of agreement between us. There have been times when my wife and I were upset with each other and our dog would come between us and do one of two things: 1) she'd bark at us with this commanding intention that we stop fighting or 2) she'd come right into the middle of us if we were in bed or on the couch and snuggle up next to both of us. Invariably my wife and I would step back and start laughing, realizing that our dog was doing what she could do to end the upset.

Beyond the "marriage counselor" role that our dogs have played, they have always been considered a part of the family. And this bond had a very positive effect on the bond that existed between my wife and I and between us and our daughter. Anything that increases reality and agreement between people will also increase the affinity and communication. This principle (of the effect Affinity, Reality and Communication have on each other) is discussed in greater detail in this article.

Anyway, this is a much longer post than I had envisioned, so I'll wrap it up here. If you carry on further into this post, you can read the email that I received earlier today that I found very touching and every pet lover will enjoy...

(here is the content of the email I received today):

The Old Man and the Dog
by Catherine Moore

"Watch out! You nearly broadsided that car!" My father yelled at me. "Can't you do anything right?"

Those words hurt worse than blows. I turned my head toward the elderly man in the seat beside me, daring me to challenge him. A lump rose in my throat as I averted my eyes. I wasn't prepared for another battle.

"I saw the car, Dad. Please don't yell at me when I'm driving." My voice was measured and steady, sounding far calmer than I really felt.

Dad glared at me, then turned away and settled back. At home I left Dad in front of the television and went outside to collect my thoughts. Dark, heavy clouds hung in the air with a promise of rain. The rumble of distant thunder seemed to echo my inner turmoil.

What could I do about him?

Dad had been a lumberjack in Washington and Oregon. He had enjoyed being outdoors and had reveled in pitting his strength against the forces of nature. He had entered grueling lumberjack competitions, and had placed often. The shelves in his house were filled with trophies that attested to his prowess.

The years marched on relentlessly. The first time he couldn't lift a heavy log, he joked about it; but later that same day I saw him outside alone, straining to lift it. He became irritable whenever anyone teased him about his advancing age, or when he couldn't do something he had done as a younger man.

Four days after his sixty-seventh birthday, he had a heart attack. An ambulance sped him to the hospital while a paramedic administered CPR to keep blood and oxygen flowing. At the hospital, Dad was rushed into an operating room. He was lucky; he survived.

But something inside Dad died. His zest for life was gone. He obstinately refused to follow doctor's orders . Suggestions and offers of help were turned aside with sarcasm and insults. The number of visitors thinned, then finally stopped altogether. Dad was left alone.

My husband, Dick, and I asked Dad to come live with us on our small farm. We hoped the fresh air and rustic atmosphere would help him adjust. Within a week after he moved in, I regretted the invitation. It seemed nothing was satisfactory. He criticized everything I did. I became frustrated and moody. Soon I was taking my pent-up anger out on Dick. We began to bicker and argue. Alarmed, Dick sought out our pastor and explained the situation. The clergyman set up weekly counseling appointments for us. At the close of each session he prayed, asking God to soothe Dad's troubled mind. But the months wore on and God was silent. Something had to be done and it was up to me to do it.

The next day I sat down with the phone book and methodically called each of the mental health clinics listed in the Yellow Pages. I explained my problem to each of the sympathetic voices that answered. In vain. Just when I was giving up hope, one of the voices suddenly exclaimed, "I just read something that might help you! Let me go get the article." I listened as she read. The article described a remarkable study done at a nursing home. All of the patients were under treatment for chronic depression. Yet their attitudes had improved dramatically when they were given responsibility for a dog.

I drove to the animal shelter that afternoon. After I filled out a questionnaire, a uniformed officer led me to the kennels. The odor of disinfectant stung my nostrils as I moved down the row of pens. Each contained five to seven dogs. Long-haired dogs, curly-haired dogs, black dogs, spotted dogs, all jumped up, trying to reach me. I studied each one but rejected one after the other for various reasons, too big, too small, too much hair. As I neared the last pen a dog in the shadows of the far corner struggled to his feet, walked to the front of the run and sat down. It was a pointer, one of the dog world's aristocrats. But this was a caricature of the breed. Years had etched his face and muzzle with shades of gray. His hipbones jutted out in lopsided triangles. But it was his eyes that caught and held my attention. Calm and clear, they beheld me unwaveringly.

I pointed to the dog. "Can you tell me about him?" The officer looked, then shook his head in puzzlement.

"He's a funny one. Appeared out of nowhere and sat in front of the gate. We brought him in, figuring someone would be right down to claim him. That was two weeks ago and we've heard nothing. His time is up tomorrow." He gestured helplessly.

As the words sank in I turned to the man in horror. "You mean you're going to kill him?"

"Ma'am," he said gently, "that's our policy. We don't have room for every unclaimed dog."

I looked at the pointer again. The calm brown eyes awaited my decision. "I'll take him," I said.

I drove home with the dog on the front seat beside me. When I reached the house I honked the horn twice. I was helping my prize out of the car when Dad shuffled onto the front porch.

"Ta-da! Look what I got for you, Dad!" I said excitedly.

Dad looked, then wrinkled his face in disgust. "If I had wanted a dog I would have gotten one. And I would have picked out a better specimen than that bag of bones. Keep it! I don't want it" Dad waved his arm scornfully and turned back toward the house.

Anger rose inside me. It squeezed together my throat muscles and pounded into my temples.

"You'd better get used to him, Dad. He's staying!" Dad ignored me. "Did you hear me, Dad?" I screamed. At those words Dad whirled angrily, his hands clenched at his sides, his eyes narrowed and blazing with hate.

We stood glaring at each other like duelists, when suddenly the pointer pulled free from my grasp. He wobbled toward my dad and sat down in front of him. Then slowly, carefully, he raised his paw.

Dad's lower jaw trembled as he stared at the uplifted paw. Confusion replaced the anger in his eyes. The pointer waited patiently. Then Dad was on his knees hugging the animal.

It was the beginning of a warm and intimate friendship. Dad named the pointer Cheyenne. Together he and Cheyenne explored the community. They spent long hours walking down dusty lanes. They spent reflective moments on the banks of streams, angling for tasty trout. They even started to attend Sunday services together, Dad sitting in a pew and Cheyenne lying quietly at his feet.

Dad and Cheyenne were inseparable throughout the next three years. Dad's bitterness faded, and he and Cheyenne made many friends.

Then late one night I was startled to feel Cheyenne's cold nose burrowing through our bed covers. He had never before come into our bedroom at night. I woke Dick, put on my robe and ran into my father's room. Dad lay in his bed, his face serene. But his spirit had left quietly sometime during the night.

Two days later my shock and grief deepened when I discovered Cheyenne lying dead beside Dad's bed. I wrapped his still form in the rag rug he had slept on. As Dick and I buried him near a favorite fishing hole, I silently thanked the dog for the help he had given me in restoring Dad's peace of mind.

The morning of Dad's funeral dawned overcast and dreary. This day looks like the way I feel, I thought, as I walked down the aisle to the pews reserved for family. I was surprised to see the many friends Dad and Cheyenne had made filling the church. The pastor began his eulogy. It was a tribute to both Dad and the dog who had changed his life. And then the pastor turned to Hebrews 13:2. ‘Be not forgetful to entertain strangers.’ "I've often thanked God for sending that angel," he said.

For me, the past dropped into place, completing a puzzle that I had not seen before: the sympathetic voice that had just read the right article...

Cheyenne's unexpected appearance at the animal shelter . . . his calm acceptance and complete devotion to my father . . . and the proximity of their deaths. And suddenly I understood. I knew that God had answered my prayers after all.

Life is too short for drama & petty things, so laugh hard, love truly and forgive quickly.

Live While You Are Alive.

Tell the people you love that you love them, at every opportunity.

(This is the end of the email)


I did a search on Google for Catherine Moore who authored this story. Initially I found the story on a Louisiana SPCA web site and then on a number of other sites. I kept looking around and found it was excerpted from Chicken Soup for the Pet Lover's Soul: Stories About Pets as Teachers, Healers, Heroes and Friends. Looking inside of the Chicken Soup book, I found the story was reprinted from Guideposts Magazine. Thank you, Catherine, Guideposts Magazine and Chicken Soup for the Soul for a wonderful story.

When a Child Wants to Help…

One of the biggest mistakes parents make is not recognizing when a child wants to help. Being in small bodies, they are not going to offer the same kind of help that a fully grown person does, but they will make the effort. And when that effort is not recognized AND acknowledged, then the child will start to "help" in ways you don't appreciate.

I've seen this with my own eyes: A child around two years old is sitting in a shopping cart. He takes an item from the cart and tries to place it on the conveyor belt to the cashier. The unaware mom stops the child from doing this and says, "that's okay, honey, I'll take care of that." Unfortunately, I've seen too many moms yell at their child for attempting this. Perhaps the mom is worried the child will drop the item. Perhaps the mom is in a hurry. Perhaps the mom is just stressed out.

Now we turn to the mom who sees this seemingly insignificant act as a real effort on the child's part to HELP. The child wants to contribute in some way. She's small, but she can grab onto some item in the shopping cart and TRY to get that item onto the conveyor belt. The smart mom observes what is happening and let's the child complete this act of contribution. If the child is having difficulty pulling it off, the mom helps out in a way that allows the child to still take "ownership" of the help that's being offered.

When the helpful act is accomplished, the mom gives the child a very hearty thank you (and maybe even a hug). The child gets that her help is appreciated and will continue to deliver this kind of help in the future. Parents allow the child to complete these acts of help and acknowledge the child each time for doing so.

As mentioned earlier, the child who has this line of help and contribution cut off by the mom or the dad (or siblings) will find other ways to "help." The child will do things that are a bit (or very) destructive. This will certainly get a response. Not the response the parent or the child really wants, but a response nevertheless.

Give your child the freedom to contribute and you will be doing your child (and your marriage) a great service.


More ideas on bringing up children in my book When the Thrill Is Gone. Ebook version is currently available at no charge.

The Advantages of Sleeping On It…

You and your husband are upset about something. What advantages are there to sleeping on it?

I'd have to say...none.

If you and your spouse are in the middle of an upset, it's worth the extra effort to try to resolve it before heading off to bed. For a few reasons:

• You'll get much better sleep if the upset is behind you.

• Though some upsets will "fade away" with time, many do just the opposite. They linger and can have a negative impact on other areas of life.

• Upsets (even minor ones) that are allowed to accumulate can put unnecessary strain on the marriage.

• If there are kids, whether they view the upset(s) directly or not, they are affected by them.

Sometimes we're just too tired to sit down and resolve an upset before going to bed, but any effort you (and your spouse) make on this kind of thing can be very helpful. Even if all you do is look each other in the eye and say, "hey, I know we're upset but I think the world of you. Let's agree to fix this tomorrow for sure." — that's far better than sleeping on it. And a fast hug or kiss wouldn't hurt.

One Very Easy Way to Improve Communication…

If you and your spouse are not in good communication with each other, there are a number of ways to improve the communication, but here is a very simple approach: talk to your spouse about things that are VERY REAL to him/her.

Each spouse has a number of subjects that are “very real” to them. It might be work-related, a favorite sport, a particular political view, maybe even a sibling that one spouse spends a lot of time with. If you’ve been together for even a short time, you pretty much know what these subjects are.

If you’re the wife and you’d like to take that first step to improve communication, discuss subjects with your husband that he has a good bit of “reality” on. If you do this, your husband’s willingness to communicate will be higher than before. Keep it sincere along this line and you will eventually see an increased willingness to communicate about other subjects (recent upsets perhaps).

People find it very easy to talk about things that are very real to them. When the level of communication in your marriage drops, talk to your spouse about these very real subjects first and you’ll have taken a simple and effective step to raising the level of communication.

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