Search Results for: The Divine Old Dog

The Divine Old Dog sent me a voice text this afternoon,

first she sent an Emoji, a dancing dog, it popped up

on my Iphone, and I thought it might be her,

“I didn’t know you could text, and with video no less.”

I messaged back with my own Emjoi,

a big face with a teary smile. “Yo!,” was the message.

“Sure,” she wrote, “they love Apple stuff up here,

devices everywhere,

we are in the Cloud, of course, very busy here.”

“How are you, Divine Old Dog?,” I asked.

“I am good,” she said, “just checking in. ”

She added:

“I didn’t get much rest, there is a demand for big

and scary dogs who protect people, I’m working with

a young boy who has some scary people around him,

I ran off several of them today.”

There was a pause.

“How is Maria?,” she texted.

Okay, I said, she misses you, but

she thinks you were ready to go.

“We got strong together,” she said,

“she needed time to grow and know herself,

she doesn’t need a dog like me now,

my work is done. You know us spirit dogs,

we come when we are needed, we leave when we are done.

Maria can take care of herself. She is strong.”

“Is it sad for you to come and go?,” I asked.

“No, not really, I miss people for awhile, but

the good thing about my job is that I get to do it again,

I like to go where I am needed, and move along when I am not.”

Still, she said, it was sweet being down there

on the farm.

“We hated men together,” she said softly,
“And then we found out you could trust some of them.

At least for a bit.”

I thought I saw her wink.

“The thing is,” she said,” there are a lot of strong

people who think they are weak. People pick on them.

I can be helpful.

I scared this boy’s drunken uncle so bad he peed himself and ran

out through the screen door. A bully, he won’t be back soon.

Maria would have loved it.”

“Do you want to talk to  her yourself?,” I asked.

“No, that’s not allowed, she said. “Gets too emotional. Just

wanted to thank you for being so patient with me – I didn’t like you coming around –

I know I gave you a hard time, I needed to

let you know I am deep in my next chapter.  No time to rest. He

is a nice kid, young, I’ll be here awhile. One night here, and I’m sleeping

at the foot of the bed. And he is sleeping now, too, for the first

time in months.

I’m young again too, the angels do amazing

stuff up here, so he and i will grow up together. I can

run again, and my legs don’t hurt, I got a chipmunk today,

snapped him in half, tossed him in the air, it was awesome,

everybody screaming at me.

My young man will be strong one day too.  Take care of Maria. I loved her a lot.

I know she’ll probably get some cute wussy dog, I can’t say I blame her.

Humans are like that. Change, change, change. I was ready to go.

Stay warm down there.”

And then she was gone, the screen went blank.

I am sorry to bring you sad news once more, Frieda died this morning shortly after 10 a.m. She was euthanized at the Cambridge Valley Vet. She was struggling more and more each day – deafness, incontinence, disorientation, arthritis. She had fallen on the stairs several times and was struggling to get on or off her dog bad and Maria wisely and lovingly decided to give her peace and release from her pain.

We both saw that Frieda was ready to go.

Frieda was 15 years old, and failing. Our vet, Dr. Suzanne Fariello, says this winter has taken it’s toll on many old dogs. My heart and my love go out to Maria, these two were one of the most powerful love stories I have encountered in my years of writing about the human- animal bond.

When I first met Maria and Frieda, I thought of them as the Thelma and Louise of the dog- human world, two man-haters on the run, protecting one another and clinging to one another and loving each other dearly.

Frieda took her duties seriously, she tried to kill me repeatedly and for many months (along with every other living thing on the farm), Maria loved the wildness, the tiger in her.  It was, I think, what she had always wanted to be but was too afraid to be. To the end, these two were fused. I believe Frieda saved Maria’s life in some ways. When she most needed to be safe, Frieda made her feel safe.

I came to love Frieda very much and owe her a lot. She was a monumental personality.  It was Frieda that helped Maria learn how to trust me at a time when she trusted very few people, and no men. When she saw Frieda and me come to love one another, and when I refused to quit on Frieda,  she said then she knew it would be okay for her to love me too. That was a big gift.

Over time, Frieda came to protect me as well as Maria. She sat at the door to my study (Lenore dozed on the sofa inside) and guarded me while I worked, and nobody bothered me.

Frieda inspired much in my life. A book, “Second Chance Dog,” and my Divine Old Dog poems.

She was a great spirit, training and taming her was one of the challenges of my life, it taught me so much. Frieda was raised as a guard dog,  abandoned in the Adirondacks, lived in the wild hunting small game for years, then ended up in a shelter in Queensbury, N.Y., where Maria saw her and took her home (many people chose not to bring her home.) She joined my life at the first Bedlam Farm, where she lived in a barn for nearly a year before she got calm enough to come inside of the house.

Maria always saw Frieda as a cute and sweet creature, even as she was terrorizing men and dogs and hunting and devouring baby rabbits, woodchucks,  raccoons, skunks, chickens and cats. She chased a few trucks as well.

I always said that Frieda was the only real man in the house, she never gave it up, never gave it away.  She had true integrity. She adored Maria every second of her life, and was faithful and protective of her to her last breath. She also made sure that no big truck ever came into the driveway and bothered us and our house.

I am glad my heart was restored in July, I think it might have shattered for good in this month of cold, challenge and loss – Simon, Lenore, and now Frieda. There needs to be life on this farm. I give all of my stronger heart to Maria today, she is strong and brave and clear, I am proud of her in so many ways. It was such a difficult decision, but in the end, she was Frieda’s advocate, she gave her peace and freedom. Dr. Fariello, like all vets, says it is difficult to see the suffering animals go through because people can’t let go.

Today, Maria decided to let go.

I think of Frieda now back in the woods she loved, being the tiger she was, prowling and hunting and sniffing, a strong woman who could take care of herself and the people she loved. There, she can run free, as she loved to do, sneak up on unsuspecting prey, run quietly on her trails, scare the wits out of rabbits, dig shelters for herself,  answer the call of the wild. She was the woman Maria came to be.

Run in peace, Frieda, you did well here, and we are grateful for you.

The Divine Old Dog stood by the back door,

watching the storm,

she was so excited to go out,

she walked down the path,

making a trail,

she circled once or twice, and sniffed the air,

and barked at the snow,

falling off the tree limbs,

the songbirds flew off of the feeder,

and up on the roof, they

sang for her,

she danced in the storm,

and swirled in the snow,

to a flutes played  by the angels,

once held by God,

they were calling to her,

she stuck her nose deep in the drifts,

smelling for chipmunks or rabbits,

for mice and moles,

soon she was covered in snow,

her legs began to tremble,

she shivered, her legs could not dance

any longer. When she came in,

she lay close to the stove, her eyes closed,

dreaming of the freedom and

beauty and stillness

of the winter woods,

her warm body,

in constant yearning.

The Divine Old Dog saved the day,

today. Startled by God,

she shot up from her nap in the sun,

outraged by a jogger who dared to run,

she ran to her fence, no rushed, limping a bit,

from the wounds that never heal now,

to the fence by the road. She howled

and barked, and rushed back and forth,

indignant and determined,

she drove the jogger away,

as he ran past her,

and away from her,

and she barked some more,

for good measure

until she was sure he was gone,

and away

from the farm,

and the people

she protected,

and she hobbled back to her spot in the

sun, and leg shaking a bit,

went back to sleep,

to dream of rabbits in the woods,

and chipmunks in the holes,

she had done her work once more,

she had saved the farm again,

from the jogger,

who dared to run by her fence.

The Divine Old Dog is alert,

her heart is dancing,

she smells a rabbit, then hears

him rushing madly through the brush,

her legs are sore, her nose is strong,

she is on her feet, gliding quietly

through the brush, circling around,

her eyes gleaming, legs flying out from under,

into the chase, the Divine Old Dog

is full of tricks, she circles far to the left,

through the brush, into the meadow,

around the trees, splashes through the

muddy creek, closer and closer,

then around from the other side,

the rabbit has only one trick,

he runs and runs,

until he is nose-to-nose with the

Divine Old Dog,

alive with joy and purpose,

the rabbit freezes, surrenders to

the eternal fate of rabbits,

pursued by savvy dogs.

The log in the fireplace pops,

the Divine Old Dog awakens,

looks around for her rabbit, is confused,

feels the warm fire on her sore legs,

stretches and sighs. She loves her

videos, they fill her lungs with

the breath of life,

her head with purpose.