Although the vet advised me not to, I took Red out to the pasture briefly, nothing makes him happier or gets his blood up more than a stand off with Liam, his nemesis.
Liam seemed okay with the plan, he came out to get in Red’s face, then dropped it..
Red might be sick, but he backed Liam off with his usual forcefulness and clarity.
I didn’t let Red run, he just held Liam in place.
This morning, I got him to eat a small piece of cooked hamburger, his first real food in several days. I’m hoping this signals a turning point, he lay so still by my bedside last night that I kept getting up to make sure he was breathing. It didn’t look like he was.
Red’s sickness is challenging in many ways, one of them is that it is forcing me to consider what it is I really believe.
Can I really communicate with him, and him with me? Can I really listen to him and understand that it is he really needs and wants? Can he hear me when I plead with him to get well?
I suppose this is as powerful a test of the theories in my new book as any, there is perhaps some message there.
One Amazon critic said the book was trite, but I don’t think it’s trite to people who love their animals, or whose voiceless friends are unable to speak for themselves. This morning, I felt this is what Red needed, to get out to the work that is the heart and soul of any border collie and remind him of what his life is about.
He was not as brisk or quick as usual, but he was more alert and focused than he has been, I felt he was telling me this was what he needed to feel grounded and alive again, yesterday was hard, Red was almost comatose. I felt he was hanging on.
He would not eat any of the special dog food the vet sent home, and I was worrying the toll of not eating for days might take on him when he needed strength.
So I decided to take the initiative and made my own concoction. I realized that I am important too, in this healing process, Red looks to me often for guidance and direction. Why was I feeling so helpless?
I cooked some grass fed hamburger in its juices, a dab of peanut butter and some bits of Gouda cheese. His favorite stuff. It worked, Red hesitated, looked at me, and ate all of it. This was a victory, for sure, a step in the right direction.
So, I think, was taking him outside. I’m always telling people to be their own guru, we know our dogs better than anyone knows them, and I felt that this is what Red wanted and needed. I was stunned by his illness, and became passive, waiting for the vet’s wisdom and direction.
I am important too, in this, important to him.
I love our vet, and trust her, but I don’t want to be passive.
Red is in some peril, and I want to do more than drive him back to the clinic and give him medication other people sell me. I have to be able to do more than that. I want him to sense my faith and confidence.
This morning, at 9:30, we are taking Red back to the vet to figure out our next step. If his fever is not done, we’ll move on to ultrasound tomorrow. Yesterday, I felt Red might be dying, I didn’t feel that this morning, watching him stare Liam down and eat his hamburger. I need to mind what is in my head.
This morning, I woke up thinking I better practice what I preach. If I am discouraged, he will know that, even if he doesn’t know what dying means. This morning, I felt hope and brought him out to the pasture life. I think he felt that too, he seemed to revive. I feel good again, relieved and hopeful.
The bond between a human and their dog is very strong, and it can be very healing as well. A friend sent me a poem by John O’Donohue from his book To Bless The Space Between Us. I love this poem,and I took Red outside I think to bless the space between us.
And I read this verse aloud to myself, and perhaps to Red:
“Stranded between time,
Gone and time emerging,
We manage seldom,
To be where we are:
Whereas they are always looking out,
from the here and now.”
Red is not alone as long as I am here, and I am not alone as long as he is here. I bless the space between us,
and call him to life. I think that maybe the most powerful medicine.