We can project all kinds of things onto our dogs, most people do. I feel the greatest connection with dogs not when they are becoming my emotional soothers, but when they are being themselves, fitting themselves into my life, serving me as dogs have done for so many thousands of years. Such a spiritual moment comes on Macmillan Road, where I walk every day, and where I often get distracted and stop to take photos, to look at the trees or the lights and shadows. I imagine sometimes it is difficult to be my dog, but Red and Lenore do it so gracefully it is very powerful for me, and very spiritual, as great dogs bred to work with humans often are. I stopped a dozen times on Macmillan Road today to take photos, and it wasn’t until the fourth or fifth time that I looked up and realized that every time I stopped, Red and Lenore stopped too.
I realized I paid no attention to them when I took the camera out, I just assumed they would be there, near me. I have not appreciated this, how meaningful it is to have two dogs who will do that, enter into my life and work, and not run off or bark or cause me any difficulty, but in a ritual of trust and attention, wait for me to to my work. I do not worry that they are impatient or not happy. I never have to yell at them (except sometimes when Lenore has pulled up some unspeakable dead thing and starts eating it.) I know that this what they love, were bred to me, that gives them meaning. They are not my soul mates, my best friends. Maria is better for that. Is it training? Perhaps. But real training is spiritual, not about obedience. Real training guides dogs to live with us, not in their own world alongside of us. I appreciated these dogs today, and thanked them for their patience and faithfulness.
I walk past old trees all the time and never see them. Photography demands that you pay attention to the world around you. Anything can make a beautiful photograph if you open your mind and soul to it. On Macmillan Road, where I walk every day with Red and Lenore, and sometimes Maria and Frieda, I pass a stand of old trees with weathered bark. I didn’t really see them until a couple of days ago, and then I did see them, I am learning to look around me, and I brought my 100 mm macro lens and this helps me to see the beauty of the old tree in a very new way. Looked at one way, it’s a peeling bark. Looked at another, it’s a moment of supplication of prayer. Hands out calling for strength and love and the call to life.
I put Anne’s daffodils in the window in my office and waited until late afternoon, when the sun is low in the sky, right behind the window. I got my 100 mm macro lens and set it on manual so I could get very close, just a few inches away. ISO was 100, f/4.5, 1/200. I didn’t adjust the photo except in Nik software I enhanced the structure tab a bit to bring out the definition. A good harbinger of Spring.
I learned in hospice work that few people want to talk or think about death, even when it is upon them. I also learned that the good deaths I saw were considered deaths, when dying was discussed, thought about, when decisions were made about dying before it was too late to make them thoughtfully. It is hard to talk about death. Nobody wants to, and doctors are trained not to. Generally, they do not tell people it is okay to die, rather there are many things to try to keep them alive. The media presents death to us all the time, every day, in graphic detail all over the world. But nobody talks much about how they wish to die.
So I will. This is not a gloomy website, but it isn’t just about cute animals either. Life happens. So does death. Out of the closet. I am 65 years old, and death is closer to me that it is farther away. I’ve hidden from a lot of things in my life, I’m not going to hide from that.
Yesterday I did get to talk about how I want to die, and with a doctor. I have stayed out of the mainstream health care system for some years now, and take no medications other than holistic ones. I see a naturopath, a man named Glenn, in Vermont every few months. I bring Red, we usually sit and talk for an hour and a half. He asks me a bunch of questions, we talk about what I am eating, what I am feeling. Glenn checks my heart, pulse and blood pressure. Once a year, he takes blood and gives me a physical. We discuss nutrition, organs, the body, health, aging and photography. He has become a good friend. He is a fine photographer and we often drool over the latest cameras and lenses.
Glenn is an MD who prefers holistic medicine to the other kind. He does like his tests, he is a scientist, wants to know what is going on inside of me, so that he work on shoring up various organs – the liver, gall blader, prostate, etc. He is always encouraging me to offer up some blood and fluids for numbers. He knows I am wary of this, tests are to me a door that once opened, never seems to close for some, and there is a certain point, I think, where tests generally show bodies declining. I don’t want to fill my head with my own health, so easy to do. And I don’t want to live forever. I read Mary Shelley, and I got it. I don’t talk about my health with other people, and I don’t talk about their health either. That is not going to be the subject of my life. So this week Glenn and I finally talked about dying, and it was a good and meaningful conversation. I suppose it was disturbing also for me.
I am doing very well with my own system of health care but I know that one day this will be put to the test, and I wish to be prepared. Glenn told me I could live to be 100, just like George Burns. I told him I have no wish to be 100 or live like George Burns. He said tests would help us understand what was happening in my body. The idea of the naturopath is to give the body a chance to heal itself. They don’t scare people into tests andI said I understood this, but I also pay attention to people around me I see who are older. They take tests constantly, are on many medications, are ever at the pharmacy and talking about their tests and their bodies and insurance payments. They feel old, talk old, sound old. And it seems to me that has little to do with age. I don’t wish for that to be me. I understand where I am in life, I have no illusions about where I am going.
How do I want to die? I want to die as I have lived, fully and well. I want to be at home, with my wife. I want to be alert and functioning. I want to be clear and present. I don’t believe conventional medicine generally encourages that or allows for it, so I will look elsewhere for the help and guidance I need. I want to say goodbye to the people I love, and thank them for helping me to have such a good life. I want to write about it, hopefully in a helpful way. I want to accept death when it appears, and not fight it with elaborate tests and medications and procedures, I want to be gracious about it and accepting.
I don’t wish to prolong my life unnaturally. I don’t want to exist for it’s own sake, I want to have a meaningful life and then, move on. I don’t wish to be a burden to Maria or my daughter or other people who love me. I’m older than Maria, and am likely to die before her. She is entitled to another chapter in her life. I don’t wish to have prolonged care in my house or in a nursing home. To me, that is a choice.
I understand that aging is not a mindset, and there are some things I can control, and some things I cannot. I explained this idea of dying to Glenn and he said he understood, he respected my beliefs, he hoped for the same beliefs when he got older. I hope he is my doctor when the time comes. I said I would consider taking some more tests later in the year but that I wanted to think about it. Death is not a taboo for me, it is a part of life. I learned in hospice that while death is sometimes sad, it need not be depressing. I want to talk about how I wish to die, I want to die well and thoughtfully, and in a way that is consistent with my choices and wishes, not be sucked into a system fueled be fear, running out of control, dominated by political bureaucrats and money-grubbing corporate executives. This system is increasingly inhumane and irrational to me. I told Glenn I am prepared to die when the time comes, and disinclined to pretend I can turn back fate.
I have to confess it was unsettling to have this conversation, I woke up thinking about it. But I will have it again and again over the years, or so I hope. I don’t wish to be 100, or even 90, but I’m in no hurry to leave the earth just yet either. I have a lot of good stuff ahead of me, more books to write, photos to take, blogs to fill, podcasts to send out, dogs to love and write about. I am so looking forward to my life with Maria. I told Glenn I intended to die on the farm and I have already taken legal steps to make sure my life will not be unnaturally prolonged if I become critically ill or unable to communicate. Maria knows how I feel.
With Glenn’s fine help – he has changed a lot about my life and health, all for the better – I will be gassing on for many years. How to die is not one decision but many, not done at one time but over time. Dying is not just about me, but about the people around me as well, especially Maria and my daughter. I don’t intend to dwell on it, but I won’t avoid it either. I don’t feel morbid about dying, I hope it will be my last burst of creativity and self-determination. My plan is to have a good death. And so I will share this process here from time to time.
Red evolves in our lives. Six months ago, he was guiding Rocky around the pasture. Now, he just keeps order. It is still winter here, so we haven’t gotten into our regular sheepherding routine. In the morning, during chores, we no longer give Red any commands much. We just let him out into the feeding area behind the barn, and he keeps order. He keeps the sheep away from the hay in the barn, and away from the donkey’s feeder. The donkeys stay clear of him as well. When we are done feeding and watering and mucking, we just call him in.
It is so easy to project things onto animals – they save us, define us, keep us going, are our therapists and friends, but I think for me, they are at their best and most appropriate when they are simply working and serving us. Keeping order, accompanying us through life.
