Ross was 6'4"and skinny, wore jeans that were about 28 waist and 36 length, and was the most amazing dog man that I ever knew. He could find a stray dog along the road, connect and communicate within 5 minutes, and the dog was "his". Stunning to watch those first five minutes, wondering how he could do that.
Ross was, not so long ago, 45 going on 17. Never grew up. Almost got a court-martial in Viet Nam for adopting animals. Decided once to be a rodeo clown, until hiding behind a gate at bull-riding time meant that the gate rolled back on his new boots and 7X hat!
Carpenter, electrician, welder, on and on and on, but never kept a job. Even a police officer once, which was a bad idea for law enforcement.
Ross was a little wounded before he went to war. When he came back, no one really paid any attention that his mental state was totally out of range. No violence, ever. But Ross was the eternal gypsy, never made a commitment, never grew up. One after another, he checked himself in to Veteran's hospitals, always realizing that psychiatric help was the answer, but never connecting with it.
And when he died at 55, Ross was still a teen. All of us in the family loved Ross. None of us knew how to help.
Thank God that He loves the odd ones among us, the ones that never produce, never connect, never learn to love. No one else could reach Ross. God could.
Thank God for it all!
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