She told me I saved her life!

he other day, I received a surprise text message.

It was from a person I did not know or recognize.

It read,

“Hi, I was wondering if

you are/were a teacher in Colorado.”

And when I asked her if she happened to have been one of my students, she replied, “I had a student of yours write an essay for a contest which is held locally by our local PBS station entitled THE GREAT TEACHER ESSAY.”

And she sent me a screenshot of the essay.

It was indeed from one of my former students telling her community about what an incredible teacher I was to her in the fourth and fifth grades.

This caused me to recall an event I will never, ever forget, a heart-moving true story about a time I saved a girl’s life.

No, I did not pull her out of wreckage and administer CPR.

I did not fight off attackers in downtown Portland at 2 a.m.

Nothing like that.

Nothing immediately heroic.

My story begins with the following quotation:

“You dog!

You absolute cur!!”

What would it mean if someone actually called you a dog?

You would be insulted, right?

Yet even in this tale, I am nothing more than a dog.

A dog!

And here is why.

As you now know, I was once a teacher.

Elementary and middle school mostly.

Fourteen years I taught.

I also did the high school drama thing I wrote about several weeks ago.

Good or bad, most teachers don’t know the impacts they have had on their students.

I imagine many of them have very little impact.

When their students grow to adulthood, most of their teachers are forgotten.

Memories are discarded.

But the ones who made a big impact are the ones they remember.

If a teacher was unfair or mildly abusive, oh, are they remembered!

And if they stood out as a favorite, they are more than remembered.

They are cherished.

Aama (pronounced Ah-ma) was in my sixth-grade math class when I taught at a middle school in southwestern Colorado.

There was nothing about her that stood out from any of my other students.

She was never one to attempt to make herself a favorite student like some, but was rather reserved in her personality.

Straight blond hair and blue eyes, this eleven-year-old came up to me after one of math classes early in the school year with a question.

I had four classes.

Three were delivered at the normal pace and one was the accelerated course.

“Mr. Stoeckl,” Aama began.

She shifted from foot to foot, trying to form her sentence.

I sat against a desk to put her at ease.

“Do you think I could be in the advanced math class?”

My initial inclination was to say no.

I mean, what if this young girl’s math grades plummet because she cannot keep up?

It was risky.

But I said yes, warning her that if her grades suffered, she would have to return to one of the regular groups.

Aama did not fail.

in fact, she excelled.

She made it through my math course with flying colors.

And I was very proud of her.

The school year ran its course and I thought nothing more about it.

And my students moved onto the upper grades.

I did not give them any more thought unless they came to me as

seventh and eighth graders to say hello.

And many of them did.

I was once called the Pied Piper of children.

My students were always drawn to me.

I never did know why.

I was just being me.

I eventually left teaching because I grew tired of the politics.

Most teachers, in my opinion, are really not good people.

They hated my popularity among the kids.

It played on their broken egos, I suppose.

They tended to bully me as if they themselves were still in middle school!

And being an empath, it was too daunting for me to continue, so, after fourteen years, I decided to hang it up.

Two years later, I found myself at a middle school track meet.

There were several schools represented including the one I used to teach at.

I met with one of the school staff I once knew in the grand stands and asked who was on the team.

“Well, there’s Aama!” she said pointing out a fourteen-year-old girl who now barely looked like the pre-adolescent one I used to teach.

Aama was now nearly in high school.

After a heat, Aama saw me, ran over to the stands, and gave me a big hug.

She was all smiles and wanted to know how I was doing.

We talked for a short amount of time, and she invited me to her Life Presentation giving me the date and time she would be presenting.

As an end of middle school, students in the 8th grade got out two weeks early, but they had to make a presentation of their work and experiences throughout middle school-hence, a life presentation.

Artworks and writings, awards and even major testing scores could come into play.

And they invited anyone they wanted to be in the audience to support them.

None of the other teachers Aama had in the sixth grade were invited.

Just me.

I was honored.

She stood up at the podium.

She showed accomplishments she had done in the three years she

attended the school.

And then, the most extraordinary thing happened.

She said, “And if Mr. Stoeckl had not accepted me into the advanced math class, I would not be alive today.”

Wait… WHAT???

Did I hear that right?

Aama went on to talk about the acrimonious breakup of her parents and how, for a few weeks in her seventh-grade year, Aama had no one to turn to.

And one of her parents kicked her out of the house leaving their young daughter homeless for a time.

She had to turn to friends for safety and shelter.

Now most kids would have buckled under that kind of emotional pressure.

Many would have turned to drugs… sex… gangs… or self-harm.

Some might have even committed suicide under such duress.

But, as Aama explained, “I turned to my grades. I turned to academics. I love writing. I want to become a writer. And when my sixth-grade teacher gave me a way to excel, it made my life significant. My studies saved my life… and so did Mr. Stoeckl.”

As you might expect, I was floored.

I couldn’t see anything through the tears that had welled up in my eyes.

I had never been so moved in all my life.

How in the world had I done that?

I’m not sharing this to pat myself on the shoulder.

I don’t even know how I impacted most of my former students.

Most teachers don’t until something like this comes along.

And this is why I am a dog.

Because dogs save us without ever knowing just how valuable they truly are.

My Yeti loves me more than anything, and she has little idea how much she impacts my life.

Yeti is just being Yeti… just like I was just being me.

Those of you still pondering the possibility of owning your first DireWolf Dog, might not yet understand what I am talking about.

Even our adult dogs learn so quickly how to love.

It just comes natural to our loving companion breed.

Maybe it is time for you to consider adding a tail-wagging companion to your life.

If so, the first step is to complete our puppy adoption questionnaire so that we can get to know you better:

https://direwolfproject.com/puppy-application/

Or if you’re just not able to own a dog to fill the emptiness life brings your way, but still want to play a huge part in filling others’ lives, you can join the Founder’s Circle, helping Jennifer plan the future of the Dire Wolf Project™ and the breeding program.

https://shop.direwolfproject.com/products/the-founder-s-circle

---

Jennifer Stoeckl is the co-founder of the Dire Wolf Project, founder of the DireWolf Guardians American Dirus Dog Training Program, and owner/operator of DireWolf Dogs of Vallecito. She lives in the beautiful inland northwest among the Ponderosa pine forests with her pack of American Dirus dogs.