Day: December 1, 2012

Once in a while, I go through my photo files, looking at the friends who have left. Elvis, Rose, Orson, Izzy, now Rocky, power animals and magical helpers, guides and friends. This photo was taken in the last few minutes of Izzy’s life and is the last photo of him that I took.

Izzy was a good dog, a sweet dog. I found him abandoned on a beautiful old farm and I brought him home. He drove me crazy, and then chose me as his human. He led me into hospice work when I had sunk into the deepest depression and his work with people at the edge of life brought me back from my own edge. He loved people, and knew how to approach them, as Red does.

This is the mark of the spirit dogs, they come to help and love people and to brush against their hearts and souls, bring smiles and light, comfort and companionship. I imagine Izzy lying in fields of green, among the blue lights of his ancestors, by the quietest stream, in the gentlest, softest meadow. Like other spirit guides, he came when he was needed and left when he was ready.

My wish for him is that he move on and enter the life of another troubled and needy human, for that is his work, his destiny, his purpose. I remember him visiting Timmy, a small boy dying of a brain tumor. Timmy’s mother would wait for Izzy to come and jump up on Timmy’s bed. I would read Timmy from books about wild animals that he loved and show him the pictures. Timmy would put his arm around Izzy and close his eyes and know peace for an hour or so, and so would his mother, who would only rest when Izzy was present. I would sit back, across the room, watching a sad and painful room turn peaceful and quiet.

Izzy loved people and had a genius for connecting with them.

One day we came to Timmy’s house, and the door was locked, no one answered the bell, no one was home. We never got to say goodbye to Timmy, volunteers were not necessary that day, and so our work there was done. Izzy and I went out that night to chase sunsets and take photos and then wait for Maria to call, and I knew she would. Izzy would lie down alongside the road and watch me wait for the sun to set, and I would say “What about it, Izzy? Is the sun right?” He so eased the awful loneliness of those days.

I am grateful, I told her, for this dog, and for the chance to learn how to be a human being. I was lucky to have him, and my wish for him is that he is bringing light to some other dark corner of the universe.

Friday I asked people on Facebook – I often post questions for readers – if they believe their dogs dream, and I was startled within a few hours to have more than 250 replies almost all of them saying the same thing: yes, absolutely. It is always interesting to me how strongly dog and cat lovers feel about their pets, how certain they are about subjects like dreaming and grieving. Yet I was touched by the fervor of these replies and so this morning I posted another topic asking people to imagine what the content of these animal dreams might be.

Think of it, a chance to share this leap of faith, this interactive, inter-species rite of imagination. I share my stories with you all of the time, and I would love to see and hear your stories. Facebook is a challenge sometimes, as is most social media, but it is also a gift sometimes and this kind of relationship between a writer and his readers, a new kind of story-telling unimaginable for most of human history is exciting. The stories of these animal dreams have begun to come in, and they are already enchanting for me. If you believe animals have dreams, please try and imagine yours (briefly) and post it. And thank you. This is creativity, and it is also a new kind of relationship between people who make stories and those who love them.

I’ll join in. I imagine Frieda dreaming of the time when she was running wild in the Adirondacks, having been abandoned there. I imagine her digging holes in the mud and rocks to stay dry and warm. Chasing rabbits, eating berries, running through the woods after mice and chipmunk, lapping up cool water in streams. I imagine her loving her freedom, reveling in it. I imagine her being wily and strong, dodging bears and packs of coyotes. I imagine her bounding through the woods, napping in meadows, dry in caves duing the winter. I think she dreams of living the life of an ancient dog, free and wild and challenged every day. Come and post your animal dreams if you wish. Right here.

We had our first snow this morning, a think snow. Winter used to arrive with a fury and roar, but now creeps in slowly, gently. Red’s job is to keep the sheep away from the main hay feeder until we bring hay to them in their own feeder. He does this automatically now without being asked and then he waits. Sometimes he is so quiet and still I forget he is out there and have to come back for him. He is always where I left him.