Little Dog Update

You may have read about it here.

Amazing news.

After Chris has taken food to little dog every morning and evening for months now, he discovered this note yesterday. We don’t know who the writer is referring to; another person had been leaving a bowl of water from time to time, and likely a little food as well. In the end, the result is the same.

Little dog has a new forever home! Her efforts to defy capture must have meant that something inside of her little feral body told her to persist. She somehow must have known her special person was on the way. And we could not be happier to have contributed to the quality of this creature’s life. Yay.

Stray

Why did we have to spot her?
By all accounts the gods know
we have done our best, taking
on one too many before, now
knowing our limits and that
of our yard and sanity;

Yet there she was, and we felt
before seeing, noticed slight
movement and heard a low
warning growl, coal black eyes
and fur to match in the inky
light of evening;

It had been raining, furiously
pouring down, thunder and lightning
and fear may have driven her
to hide under that massive machine,
its labors stilled until better weather,
and it might have driven her straight
into salvation for all we know;

So we fed her, not once but many
times, yet on that first, even
as voracious jaws began working,
she paused to look up and straight
into my eyes and I swear she gave
thanks;

Today she came out for the first time
to expose tiny dark shoulders caved
in surrender, great patches of missing
hair, eyes still imploring, won’t you,
can you please, I will be yours forever
and it breaks our hearts over
and over again that we cannot.

photo credit: Chris Johnson

After the Rain

As if there could be too much rain
in a water-parched world we head out,
two spotted canines jostling for space
in the Scion’s passenger seat chasing bright,
leaving gathering darkness behind;

Off the highway we turn downhill
toward a squall-rimmed sea, heavy mist
dispersing over adjacent desert landscape,
kiawe and natal grass greening
under amassing gloom as we knock the car’s
bouncing bottom on a rough path
and not for the first time; spilling out then,
tails swishing time to swaying seed perched
atop long sturdy stalks and they disappear
into it, diving deep below old rock roadbed,
popping up to spot us and if dogs don’t smile,
it was a good imitation;

Apace we head back, borrowing time from circumstance
as the sky brushes watercolors over the now-calm
Alenuihaha while the knobbly Kohala Mountains stand
rooted fast, decked out in their very best emerald velvet;

Then home we go, tongues lolling that good kind
of fatigue, to the best dark cacao squares
and sweet potato subji made this morning
as the two collapse onto a thick pile of rug
under our feet content, as it were,
with an evening well spent.

dog photo: Chris Johnson; landscapes: BJ



 

Pup

The pain of loving intertwined,
remembering that which is treasured
will be lost, even as ‘forever’
spills from the lips;

Gazing now at this precious face,
new life paused in eternity
long enough to be companions
for awhile and it must suffice,
though water seeps from weary eyes
that well know the pain of partings;

And we do it again. Once more
we rise to the heart’s yearning
for loving connection, living amidst
collective illusion that seeing
must be believing, and so it is.

photo: Chris Johnson

Miracle

Many more times than I can count, I have tried in my way to save various creatures in dire circumstances. Baby mice when mom was poisoned somewhere. Baby birds after a cat knocked their nest to the ground. Cats hit by cars. Dogs hit by cars. Birds of all sizes careening into windows. Even a porcupine who fell forty feet out of a hemlock tree. Raptors I’ve taken to wildlife rehab centers.

It’s tough putting a good friend down after a long and eventful life. But I’m not into prolonging suffering in animals just to delay my own grief. I’d rather they exit this life feeling the wind in their noses rather than in a state of drug-induced confusion. I’d rather death be coupled with dignity, and that extends to my human brothers and sisters as well. That being said, I long ago made a pact with heaven and earth to face what the gods put in my path as open-eyed as possible so I could always say, “Well met.” Win, lose or draw, I would do my best to confront life on its terms rather than to always insist the ground rules be mine.

It has been five years since a bike ride brought me Lucy, our little foundling dog left by the side of the highway to suffer after being sideswiped by a car. Lifting her head into my cupped hands and gazing into her eyes told me she wanted to live, and I’ve come to trust the wisdom in animals’ eyes. They do give up when they sense they’re done for. Fears, regrets and unresolved issues do not cloud their thinking. That first month demanded absolute immobility. X-rays confirmed a triple fracture in her last large vertebra prior to the smaller discs of the tail. A sharp piece of bone was poised to sever the spinal cord. Over that month, I massaged her and manipulated her body to align the spine to a natural curve. I covered a thick foam mat with plastic and bedding. Every day to her great distress, the bedding was wet and feces-stained. On the advice of the vet and to my own daily dismay, I scooped poop out of her with gloved fingers. After the second week, she could lie in the sun and the other bigger dogs did not bother her. She usually relieved her bladder in this way. After a month, she would scoot along the ground and defecate. Then she stood. Then she walked. Yet with each milestone, we recommitted to detachment from outcome. This little dog would live or she would die, but we would give her the most even chance we were able. Then another x-ray revealed that sharp bone fragment being resorbed by the body. “Miracle!” the vet exclaimed, and miracle it was.

What do we do when time and again we are faced with adversity? It’s tempting to move away from probable defeat in order to avoid pain and disappointment. Expectations can bring so much misery, they make cowards out of the most noble hearted among us. In the end it may seem easier to simply give up. But I look at life like this: if I confront what it brings me rather than floundering in fruitless manipulations, it seems to enrich my experience while deepening my interactions with others. It bolsters my courage in moving forward.

Lucy Milagro is indeed a lucky dog and we are blessed to count her among the living. She runs, plays and roughhouses with only occasional discomfort. And she healed much better and more completely than any of us could have imagined. It was a little messy in the beginning, but what in life isn’t? We experience birth in a slime of mucus and blood, shower to shed our daily detritus and then one day return to the earth as compost for the living. Meanwhile someone or something else is being born.

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Susami

There is a presence, here
and now; the bellows of breath,
warmth of blood, the feeling,
even if imagined,
that we are connected, one
to the other.

We each have our memories,
after all.

Your passing removes that utterly,
and somehow the same hand
lying on the same fur and flesh
will sense void, not even spirit,
not even that.

One can forgive the athiest,
or even theist their doubts,
props, religions. For this
at least is real:
This. Here. Now.
Tomorrow it will be gone.

And no matter in visions I linger
in the numinous; despite
in the garden I witness the alchemy
of decay transforming
into green and vibrant,
the loss of a loving companion
is egregious, indeed.

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