After I saw Rose fall down in the pasture, I got her into the house and prepared to go to the vet. I was about to put up a photo of her stricken and to write that I wasn’t sure if she would make it or not. A voice in my head cautioned me in these words: “be careful. Don’t make this – Rose’s suffering – a drama. The world is waiting for dramas, and dramas and tragedies are the currency of the times. Don’t make another one. Don’t treat her differently than you would treat yourself.” And I didn’t put up the photo. I came home from the vet with hundreds of dollars of pills and bags and vials and all kinds of instructions. This morning, it was wrenching to see Rose sitting on the porch alone (below) looking out at the sheep.

Why, I wondered, am I doing to her what I am not doing to me? Why subjecting her to inconclusive tests, lots of medications and more tests. When I got home there were hundreds of messages pouring in about her. Is Rose okay? People offer their own diagnoses, prescriptions, remedies and concerns. I was reminded of all these messages that came to me when during Irene, where I had unconsciously generated another crisis, another sense of alarm. And also of Simon, when I decided to stop referring to his rescue, stop monitoring his health every day, stop presenting him as a rolling drama, and simply let him move forward with his life. He does not need to be in crisis.

And I think I do this, without thinking, sent out signals of crisis and alarm, like many of us do, because that is our national currency these days, and then foolishly, wonder why there is all this alarm. I am doing it much less, and not liking it when I do it. And the Rose issue has crystallized this for me, yet again.

I thought Rose needed to retire, the vet suggested much rest. But I’m not putting Rose in that place of crisis and drama (and I do appreciate the concern, none of this is meant to belittle it), not making those assumptions, not tossing her into a system I don’t want to join myself. Our world is drowning in tragedy, drama and alarm, and I want my life and my life with animals to be different. That, for me, is the spiritual path.The air is filled with people trading stories of complaint, suffering, tragedy and alarm. I don’t want to be there.

Are there times to go to doctors? Sure. Are there things they can help with? Absolutely. And things they can’t.

This morning I took Rose out with the sheep (above). She was eager to go, and  went up and moved a couple around. She moved more slowly than usual and more carefully. I let her work a few minutes, and then brought her back into the house. She’s been resting, sitting on the porch.

I’m not retiring her, or seeing her as sick. I’ll give her the prescribed medications, and then see how nature works.  I doubt we will go back for more tests and more pills. I love my vet, but vets are often like human doctors – they rarely say they don’t know, or let nature take it’s course, and you rarely leave without pills and diagnoses and the prospect of more tests. I think not. Not for me, not for my dog.

And I will remind myself not to make Rose’s life into a crisis, giving out bulletins about her health, putting all that human health stuff on a dog whose life is characterized by dignity and independence.

I write a lot about the Fear Machine. I love my vet, but I don’t think they know why Rose collapsed, and sometimes things are dramas, and sometimes they are just life. I won’t pigeonhole her And I won’t have her staggering  around, disoriented and having accidents all over the place because of medications.  I will give her the same respect and dignity I want for herself and together, we will do what is comfortable. If  had to guess, my diagnosis would be that Rose has been banged around quite a bit, and her legs are stiff and sore, as happens to older working dogs. She needs to slow down.

That isn’t a crisis. It’s life.