April 16th, 2015

A Hopi Feast

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I am still digesting a precious, bountiful and nutritious feast that has fed me in ways I can’t yet articulate well. In future blogs, maybe I’ll find more words to describe what I’ve gained from the spiritual travel to Hopi land with Carla Woody, spiritual mentor and founder of Kenosis Spirit Keepers, a non-profit dedicated to preserving and sharing indigenous wisdom. (kenosis.net) For the moment, Let me share with you the visible elements on this bountiful table.

On a literal level, this feast was prepared for us by Charlene Joseph, a Hopi woman from the village of Moenkopi. We were welcomed into her home to learn about the Hopi way of life, which is all about Spirit. Perhaps you can’t see Spirit in the photograph, but it is the major ingredient–the primary flavor in every event, every “dish” that is part of her family’s life.

This feast is a tradition the morning after the night Kachina dances, which we were privileged to attend. Char’s husband, Harold Joseph, is a leader in his clan and has successfully negotiated many improvements contributing to Hopi life. He generously shared with us the elements of spiritual life that can be shared, since some practices and beliefs are kept within the hearts and minds of the men who lead the kiva ceremonies at the center of the traditional Hopi way.

The big bowls contain the traditional hominy stew that Char began making the day before, along with yeast rolls that the women in our group helped make. My husband Jon loved the fried dried red chilis, as well as the fresh green ones, since nothing is too spicy for him. I especially loved the tiny tamales tied in a traditional form and made by Char and Harold’s daughter, who took some into the kiva with the other unmarried girls who dressed up to take the dancers special food and have privileged seating within the kiva.

Another platter contains piki bread, which unmarried women make for their puberty ceremony. It is very thin sheets–almost like filo dough–that they process on a stone tablet, as has been done for centuries.

Having been fortunate enough to travel far from home and to learn from many cultures older than our American one, it struck me again that the ancient Hopi culture is right here in my own back yard. It is an island surrounded by Navajo lands, east of the Grand Canyon. But from my immersion in Hopi ways for a short week, I feel I’ve been far away, out of space and time. I’ve been nourishing myself from the generous table of Native people willing to share a way of life that is inspiring, courageous, and an example for us all.

As I digest and integrate my learnings, I’ll be sharing with you some of the “translations” from the Hopi world to the one  the majority of us inhabit. There are adjustments and commitments we can all make that could align us more directly with Spirit, help us avoid some of the potential disasters Hopi people warn us about, and support us as we attempt to live out the kind of truth that can change our lives and perhaps even save the world.

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Posted in caring for the earth, consciousness, learning from the Hopi people, shifting how we see @ 02:04 pm | Permalink | 13 Comments »

February 9th, 2015

How to Make a Great Decision

path

Sitting in sacred circle with a group of women, I listened to stories told by a group ranging from 19-90. Do you resonate with some of what they shared?

“I’m bursting with energy, but confused. How do I prioritize all I want to do?”

“I have a list of things I love, but I’m not doing that list.”

“I’m so distractible, interested in everything. I need to focus.”

“I have physical symptoms that tell me I’m not on the right path, and it’s still hard to trust doing what I love and know to be true.”

So what is the theme? It sounded to me like the question, “How do we see our path, and then how do we follow it?” This is an important and recurring theme that follows us through life.

Is the answer to discipline ourselves? To crack down and force ourselves to focus and choose? I think not! That is the old way.

This circle, facilitated by dear friend Elise Collins Shields, was an honoring of St. Brigid, descended from the Celtic goddess of the hearth. And so I asked Brigid to whisper in my ear about what we as women leaders, who are immersed in complexity, need to do. How do we discern in the new way? Here is what I “heard:”

As goddess of the hearth, I say, build a fire within to warm and bless your heart’s home–the place inside where you are who you’ve always been and always will be. This is a place outside time and space, a place only the heart knows.

Sit by the hearth, the place of warmth, comfort and safety within your heart and have a fireside chat.

Say to the Universe, “In this great journey where there are so many possibilities to manifest, I wish to liberate myself from outdated stories and beliefs and embody the IAM, The One, the Beloved, the Truth.“

Now ask–no, command that the Truth within you enter this room with eyes open, head held high, and speak what is next for you. Listen and “take it in.” Embody that Truth.

Then, rooted in and embodying that Truth, you will conduct a mediation with the mind, which will be a great help to the Truth in working out the third dimension details.

This is the right order of things.

This message from Brigid has stayed with me, and it reminds me of some important things I want to remember:

  1. The heart is the first place I want to go when making any decision. That is “the right order of things.”
  1. The heart is fearless about moving forward and telling me the Truth, and that will always come in Love.
  1. My mind is useful as well, and is a wonderful implementor. I don’t have to worry that my heart will lead me down a scary or impractical path, because the mind will always help with the strategic, clever and practical ways to manifest the heart’s truth in the “real” world.
  2. We all know more than our mind admits. So another question to ask   myself is, “What if I just did what I really know is next?”

This kind of discernment and decision-making is a great gift for a heart-centered leader. It will save time in the end, and move us forward in important ways.

Will you join me in making decisions in this way? Try it and let me know how it works for you.  I look forward to your comments.

 

 

 

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Posted in authenticity, bringing out your gifts, calling, coaching, conscious evolution, consciousness, feminine leadership, Guided imagery, heart-centered leadership, meditation, returning to essence, seeing oneself, shifting how we see, shifting paradigms, spiritual practices, Tools for seeing ourselves, women's empowerment @ 12:18 pm | Permalink | 2 Comments »

January 10th, 2015

Which Road Will You Take?

roads

As I weep over the multi-layered tragedy in France, I am also aware of pain in other areas, both personal and institutional, all around us. The pain raises that age-old question once again, a question that is more dramatic than ever in this age where we are exposed to global events in the media in a very tangible way. What is our role when we see suffering, and how do we handle our feelings about it?

When I move away from the huge issues surrounding terrorism, religious intolerance and violent fundamentalism and concentrate on my own life, certain themes become clear. Some examples…

Clients always come to me with a story, and I come to myself with my own stories. All of us want these stories solved, and we usually approach them by trying to figure them out. When we get engaged on that level, we usually get caught in a loop, going round and round. I tell my clients and myself, “The answer does not lie within the story.”

My shamanic training taught me to be an ally for clients by looking at their story “through a different lens.” Instead of engaging with the drama, my job is to hold space for a larger possibility.

The story has brought the client to a crossroads, where there is a decision to be made. Do I take the same road I’ve always taken when issues like this come up, or do I take a road I’ve never taken?

I ask them to choose the road not taken, which is to engage not from the “smaller” self that becomes victim to every drama, but from the larger self which knows better. This self can look at things from a larger consciousness, from the soul level. From that level, there is a big, long journey visible.

And so the larger self can say about the current tragedy, “Of course you have these emotions about it.” And then that soul-self can add, “And what could be good about all this?

On a personal level, what could be good about a tragedy is that someone might respond to it by deciding to go down the road of truly seizing their life and going after their heart’s desire. Now there’s an exciting opportunity!

On an institutional level, when things fall apart, the good thing could be that the leadership sees old patterns that are not sustainable and embraces a larger vision that really serves their dream and also serves the planet. Hooray!

And on a global level, the good thing about a terrible tragedy is that it brings things to light that have not been recognized by the general populace, and they have the chance when they see what’s wrong, to stand for a new and brighter road to a different future.

The crossroads in all three situations present the choice between submitting to something that may feel like fate, or seizing our soul’s true destiny. I would like to hold the vision of that destiny, and to take a stand for that.

I do that through spiritual practice that reminds me of who I truly am and of my unity with unseen spiritual support. And I hold energetic space for change to flow through me and through others, who will make their own choices.

This is a tough discipline for sure. But that is what we are being asked to do, and why we may be on the planet at this time. So join me in responding to it all with–along with our natural grief and compassion–a larger and more powerful force that holds it all.

 

 

 

 

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Posted in conscious evolution, consciousness, managing change, meditation, overcoming fear, self-healing, shifting how we see, shifting paradigms, spiritual practices, Tools for seeing ourselves @ 08:27 am | Permalink | 2 Comments »

December 2nd, 2014

Gross National Happiness

Bhutan

I had the privilege of traveling to the little kingdom of Bhutan recently, and one of the many gifts I received from that visit was the inspiration to spread the word about GNH. For Bhutan’s policy-making is guided not by the GNP (Gross National Product) but by GNH–Gross National Happiness.

It’s more than just a cute-sounding idea. There are documents outlining the four pillars, nine domains, and metrics for weighing and measuring progress. (http://www.grossnationalhappiness.com/) This little country of only 750,000 people is a model for a self-chosen set of values based on something we all chase: no, it’s not money; it’s happiness!

Thanks to our trip organizer, Narayan Shrestha (founder of the non-profit, Helping Hands), we were privileged to have a private dinner with the mayor of Thimpu, the national capital. Kinlay Dorjee seems humble, sincere, and clearly devoted to increasing the GNH in the capital and throughout the country. He spent some time introducing us to the four pillars, which are:

1.  Good governance

2.  Equitable and sustainable socio-economic development

3. Preservation and promotion of cultural heritage

4. Preservation and promotion of the environment

Pretty wonderful measures for policy-making, right? Let me backtrack to the inspiring back story.

In the 1970’s His Majesty the Fourth King Jigme Singye Wangchuck observed that economic growth had become the measure of growth and success across the world and at both collective and personal levels. Given the costs we are paying for this ideology, this enlightened king decided he would focus on a different set of values.

He came up with GNH, based on the belief that collective happiness of a society is the ultimate goal of governance. His legacy to his son, the current fifth King Jigme Kheser Namgyel Wangchuck, was the job of creating an operational framework for the growth of GNH in his country.

Finding that the four pillars were not complete enough, the Royal Government of Bhutan initiated the Good Government Plus (GG+) in 2005. Then the Centre for Bhutan Studies and GNH Research worked on indicators that now classify the values into nine domains. They are:

  • Psychological wellbeing
  • Health
  • Education
  • Time use
  • Cultural diversity and resilience
  • Community vitality
  • Good governance
  • Ecology
  • Living standards

Can you imagine a day when your government might ask if these nine domains are being addressed before deciding on a policy? For example, what if deciding on a policy for immigration involved asking, “What policy will increase cultural diversity and resilience?”

Can you imagine a day when corporate boards and executives might ask themselves how happy they and their employees and customers are, using these nine domains? How are corporate policies affecting the health domain, for instance?

And can you imagine a day when you might ask yourself if the decisions you’re making in your own life are taking these nine domains into consideration? Is that decision you’re considering going to affect the ecology of the planet? Your relationship to ecology will actually affect your happiness.

Some evidence I saw that these measures are working in Bhutan: the clean, sparkling rivers, which were like something out of a dream. Plastic bags are illegal; stores give out fiber bags. Tobacco is illegal and you cannot bring it into the country. People wear traditional dress–the men wear elegant robes over dark or argyle socks and dark shoes. The women wear lovely long skirts topped by jackets with a shawl collar often in a contrasting color. There is only a small military presence. Buddhist temples and other historical and cultural sites are beautifully preserved, and prayer flags fly everywhere there is a holy site or particularly stunning view.

Of course the country still faces challenges. But I was struck by the spiritual underpinning or energy, if you will, that was palpable everywhere. I felt an air of kindness, an atmosphere of reflection, an attitude of appreciation. This doesn’t stem from isolation; even monks were talking on cell phones. But it felt as if people had it straight that technology was not the end point. What they’re after is working with nature and with our own gifts, promoting what every human longs for: happiness.

 

 

 

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Posted in caring for the earth, conscious evolution, consciousness, creativity and empowerment, happiness, loving ourselves, managing change, new life, nourishing ourselves, policy making, shifting how we see, shifting paradigms, The Beauty Path @ 06:03 pm | Permalink | 7 Comments »

August 4th, 2014

Lobo’s postscript

Last week I was sitting in my meditation room where I had finished a meditation and was re-reading theologian Jean-Yves LeLoup’s translation and commentary on the Gospel of Mary Magdalene. In it, he was referring to the word “nous,” his translation of a word in the gospel that refers to a state of consciousness. The “nous” is related to what we call the imagination, but it is a higher state, a kind of bridge between the imagination and the realm of spirit. It is the state Mary Magdalene described as the plaee where she was able to perceive the risen Christ.

I was thinking that the “nous” must be where I meet helping spirits in shamanic journeys. Engrossed in these heady ponderings, I suddenly became aware that I felt a presence in the room. It was unmistakably Lobo. I didn’t see him with my physical eye, but I sensed his energy, as if he was prying his big body in between the table and the couch, as he used to do. Saying hello. Wanting to lick me in the face and stare at me with his big eyes.

I’ve felt his presence before many times, and have felt others on “the other side” as well. But the synchronicity of this visit (complete with the energy of his strong wagging tail) and my reading about the “nous” was…striking. I felt Lobo had come to teach me one more lesson. It was on resurrection.

My biological father was killed in World War II when I was just a baby, and he has come to visit several times to help me. The most memorable time was when one of my daughters was in crisis and I felt he had a message for her. So I took it down in the middle of the night. I felt him dictating to me, and the letter contained wisdom that I hadn’t been able to offer, in a voice that was not my own.

Visits from the other side don’t make sense to our rational minds, and yet you may have had an experience of them. It might have been through an unlikely visit by a wild animal. Or by receiving a stunning object from nature. There are many ways the “nous” can lift the veil for us, so that we can receive the love that needs no explaining.

I think Lobo came to remind me that our animals do indeed have souls, and that they become part of our “familiars,” our unseen tribe of helpers, whose wisdom and loyalty we can experience when we relax our minds into that imaginal space where they speak the language of the heart. There is a bridge to a place where we can experience the guidance that makes mystics drunk with the wine of spirit. The word “nous” means “we” in French; this land is a place of rare connection. And it is our birthright.

Thank you, dear Lobo, for your visit, and for this beautiful lesson. How lovely to know that you are waiting across that bridge that must be the rainbow bridge they talk about. Waiting to tell us even more about the new land where you romp freely, and still make your visits to our neighborhood.

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Posted in dogs as teachers, Imagination, shifting how we see, shifting paradigms @ 03:41 am | Permalink | No Comments »

July 21st, 2014

Lobo’s Last Lesson

 

 

L's bedWe owners know intellectually that our dogs’ lives pass by much more quickly than our own, but when they begin to fail, it’s utter torture.

Lobo wasn’t a big fetcher, but over the years, Jon had convinced him to go out to get the morning paper and carry it back to the house for a treat. This was always subject to Lobo’s mood that morning, and his periodic refusals were evidence that he could hold himself above bribery. Sometimes he’d go at it with real enthusiasm, throwing the paper up in the air or ripping it to shreds. Other times he’d decide to take it over to his outdoor bed, as if he was planning to lounge there with his coffee. But eventually, he just didn’t want to spend his waning energy on this ridiculous routine. He’d bark at Jon to remind him to go, but then he’d sit on the step and just wait.

Horseback rides with Jon were once a non-negotiable. It was evidently a manly thing to do to go out with the neighbor men, even when it meant trotting for miles, lying down in the shade and panting when necessary, and begging water from Jon. Even in later years when he’d be sore for days, he was not about to be left behind. When his arthritis became obvious, Jon left him once with me. He kept scanning for the horses in the distance and howling and crying. He knew he couldn’t do it any more, but it was as bad for him as it is for some elderly people to have their car keys taken away.

For years when we took him to our place in the mountains, Lobo would be delighted to take advantage of “ranch rules,” which allowed him to get up on the furniture. But eventually, leaping up on our bed was impossible, and he was relegated to the rug.

When he started refusing to take walks, we knew something was really happening inside that big dog body. He would lie on his outdoor bed and just stare at me with his ears down, a clear “No, thanks.” He would go with Jon up until the very end, when we had to agree with the animal communicator that he was getting ready to leave his body.

Lobo’s last lesson was how to die well. He did what he wanted, following his own instincts rather than our wishes. He was extra affectionate, approaching us almost every day just to stare into our eyes. He talked more, developing sounds that became an understandable language. And when it became clear that there were no options left except his suffering, he had loved ones around him singing and drumming and feeding him all the treats he wanted. I would love such a farewell.

We sprinkled Lobo’s ashes in his favorite places around the house. Some under the mesquite trees where he buried bones, treats and the horse brushes he had stolen. The  container of ashes had sat for weeks on a little kitchen shrine with a Day of the Dead dog figure with a paper in his mouth. Next to it was a card from the vet that always made us laugh. It was to Jon and Patty. (Patty was Jon’s first wife back in the 70’s. Someone’s records need updating.)

As I write this, Jon is away on a fishing trip, and the house is absolutely silent. No need to go out and remind Lobo not to bark. The house hasn’t been cleaned for two weeks, because there’s no dog hair. If Lobo were here, he’d be depressed and would be doing a lot of waiting up on his outdoor bed. And so I tell myself there are advantages. The squirrels and birds are happy he’s gone. But I haven’t been able to get rid of his outdoor bed. Sometimes when I drive in, I think I see him there, scanning the yard, making sure the area is safe for me.

Surely we’ll get another dog. And surely we will love that one, and cry again when that one dies. But I know we’ll never forget Lobo. Just like any member of the family, there are no substitutes.

He was indeed, my teacher.

Lobo

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Posted in consciousness, death and new life, dogs as teachers, healing, Making friends with death, seeing oneself @ 08:15 pm | Permalink | 3 Comments »

July 15th, 2014

Lobo’s Lesson #6

A family of coyotes built a den below our next door neighbors’ property, and must have been mystified for ten years by the next door neighbor dog who chased them one minute and howled with them the next.

We’re not sure what Lobo was saying when he joined in with their songs, but he sounded like a songdog just tuning up and jamming with the band. Since his howl was as loud as his bark, the cuteness would wear off after a few rounds, and we’d either be scolding him into being quiet or escorting the concert outdoors. The most the vet would theorize was that Lobo was part hound. But we knew there was real communication going on.

We always worried when Lobo was young and fit, and after disappearing for awhile he would return panting hard, obviously after having been on an exciting chase. A couple of times tufts of hair were missing from his hind end, indicating he had either been too slow, or had been surrounded by the coyotes’ notorious pack attacks. The fact that he survived meant to us that among the species there was a big game of chicken going on, and that the rivalry was mostly in fun.

Humans are the ones who are out of it where animal communication is concerned. We couldn’t figure out how Lobo was communicating with the coyotes, or with the fierce mother cows whose babies he chased. All we knew was that as we passed certain moms on our walks, he would give way. Not a word was said, but he would put his ears down and slow his walk, chastened. Other times, he chased to his heart’s desire despite the glares of the whole herd. Our horses were the same. Who knew why he could drive one horse crazy with his teasing, while he knew he’d better leave the other one alone.

Even though we couldn’t figure out Lobo’s communication, he had our language down pat. Over ten years he learned a lot of English, but the language that fascinated us the most was the silent, telepathic one.

Sometimes he would get lonely and bark after we left, our neighbors informed us. So we’d put a dreaded bark collar on him before leaving the house. In his later years, he knew we were coming. I would venture into the garage and open the door, the bark collar hidden behind my back. Often he would already be walking away from me to escape, which he would never do when I wasn’t armed with electricity. How did he know?

When his last days were coming and he began to fail, he told us as best he could what he wanted and what he didn’t want. One day I made an appointment to take him to the vet, and he refused to get in the car. No amount of lies about the great drive we were going to take, and no amount of treats would convince him. He already weighed in at 120 lbs., but when he was refusing to be moved, he could effectively make himself weigh 500. I gave up. When I called an animal communicator and had her do a reading on him, she said he hadn’t felt the trip to the vet was necessary. Later when he was sicker, he cooperated.

When his back end was failing him, we both had travel commitments and started to worry about him deciding to leave his body while we were gone. So I had a talk with him. “Lobo, we’re going to have to leave. Now, I know you’re getting ready to move on, and I know you’ll do that in your own time, whenever you’re ready. But if there’s any way you can wait until we’re all together, that would be great.” He stared at me with those golden eyes, as he had done at least once a day, and I knew he got the message. And, I knew he would do exactly as he pleased.

We are the ones who don’t think telepathy is natural. Animals must communicate using energetic frequencies, emotional tones in a scale we don’t even hear. Yet we probably could if we believed in our abilities.

I wish Lobo were still here to teach me all the languages he knew. Maybe even I could turn into a songdog.

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Posted in dogs as teachers, healing, Making friends with death, shifting how we see, Tools for seeing ourselves @ 03:57 pm | Permalink | 7 Comments »

July 9th, 2014

Lessons from Lobo #5

 

Lobo snake bite 

As protective and fierce as Lobo could appear, sometimes he was a big baby.

He must have heard Thunder speak to him like a great god who came ripping over the mountain growling and barking with a voice big enough to send him under the dining room table or huddled behind my office desk. Our Tucson monsoons are convincing for sure, but no amount of reassuring made them easy for him.

Jon made a big mistake when Lobo was a scared puppy who refused to venture into our swimming pool: he threw him in. From then on, Lobo would run along the edge barking at the water we’d splash up at him. He’d wade onto the first step and lie down there at the end of a long, hot walk in the desert. But no amount of cajoling would convince him to go deeper. He never blamed Jon; the trauma had been inflicted by the Great Pool God, who had sucked him in and pushed him under. For some reason the Pool God did not scare humans, but that was probably due to their stupidity.

Unfortunately, one fear Lobo had to learn from experience was his fear of rattlesnakes. One day when Jon was fortunately home, he heard a yelp unlike any he’d heard before. Lobo came inside foaming at the mouth, and hid under the dining room table. Jon could see two fresh pinpoints of blood on his nose. Clearly, Lobo had gotten overconfident.

After a couple of phone consults with neighbors who had various home remedies, Jon called the animal emergency hospital. “Don’t give him any antihistamine. Don’t give him anything; just get him here,” they counseled. $1800 and two vials of antivenom later, I picked him up the following morning. In this case, weighing 120 lbs. had been an advantage.

We decided that just in case he hadn’t gotten the message (after all, he still chased coyotes, mother cows and the neighborhood hawk), we’d give him snake training. We met the snake trainer out in Oracle, where he parked his truck full of penned rattlesnakes he had de-fanged himself. We’re talking the wild west here.

First, he put one of those evil Collars on Lobo, so that he could shock him if he didn’t pass every snake test: sight, sound, and smell. He put a wriggler down and took Lobo on a leash nearby. He turned around and ran; it was a pass.

Then he put a rattler in a burlap bag and annoyed it somehow, so that it rattled. Lobo got it. (Anything to avoid that Collar!)

Finally, he hid the bagged snake underneath Jon’s truck and called Lobo, unleashed, over toward the truck. Lobo leaped into the truck’s open window. An A+.

After that, on summer evening walks, we’d have Lobo lead, which he always did anyway. If he veered off the path, we followed him. In addition to being an amateur cattle herder, a rabbit population control officer and a coyote wrangler, Lobo was now a certified snake guide. When we’d find one in the yard, Jon would use our long snake tongs to hoist it into a big bucket, and he and Lobo would drive it a few miles away to vacant land and give it a new home.

And Lobo wore his snake nose tattoo proudly, probably figuring it was a badge of courage. We never had the heart to tell him that we saved his life, probably for the second time.

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Posted in dogs as teachers, overcoming fear, Photography, seeing oneself, shifting how we see, shifting paradigms, Tools for seeing ourselves @ 04:31 pm | Permalink | 4 Comments »

July 8th, 2014

Lesson #4 from Lobo

 

Lobo with Jon

Whatever breed made up most of Lobo’s genetics, he was a watchdog. Perhaps his primary job was to protect his property, and most of all, his two-legged underlings.

His ideas about who was suspicious may have come from unfortunate early experiences, and this gave him the appearance of prejudice. He barked at anyone with dark skin, anyone wearing a cap, and anyone who was carrying a long tool like a rake over his shoulder. His bark was utterly terrifying—loud, persistent, and utterly convincing. The poor women who came to clean our house were terrified of him. And he was secretly terrified of anyone who was terrified. Their fear along with their big vacuum cleaner made the situation untenable, so he was banished to his outdoor pen every other Tuesday morning.

And so we worried every time a workman arrived; he was much more suspicious of men than women. But despite his brown skin, his habit of wearing a cap and the yard work he did for us, Lobo came to love Gabe. Gabe proved that where dogs (and plants) are concerned, love produces love. It didn’t take long before Gabe received the same disgustingly overly dramatic reception that Jon got. Whining, howling and barking as if it were Christmas morning every time one of them drove in the driveway made my eyes roll. I was lucky to get a couple of tail wags.

But, he would let me know he loved me by protecting me from anyone suspicious-looking who was working outside. He would be lying down calmly watching until I came outside. Then, the bark alarm would start.

Some people had a tough time winning him over—perhaps because of hidden dog fear that Lobo could read like a billboard. Friend Barb, who came every week to teach us yoga, took a long time turning that rough bark into a tail wag. Our friend and house sitter Cynthia, on the other hand, could produce almost the same greeting as Jon. Perhaps it was the baby talk she did with him, along with the stream of treats, walks and jin shin treatments. Friend Jennifer’s arrival was a close second. Was it their pretty faces? Chemistry?

Lobo lined up his tribe, which included some four-leggeds. Elsie, the pretty dog with the feathery tail next door was clearly his girlfriend. But up at our mountain cabin, he went for the blue-eyed husky, Nana, and then for her daughter, Tyin.

But none had a leg up over Jon. As the years went by, he would barely leave his side. If anyone could get him to do something he didn’t care to do, Jon would be the one. Unfortunately, Jon would let him lick off his plate, would have welcomed him up on the furniture if I hadn’t vetoed it, and would never leave him behind unless absolutely necessary. I was the mom—the one at home the most, the one he knew was there. But Jon was his star. His person. His only alpha.

Like the dog portrayed in the movie A Dog’s Tale (the true story of a dog who waited at the train station for ten years for his master to come home, after he died), Lobo waited every night for Jon’s return. Parked on his outdoor bed next to the driveway, he would refuse to come in for dinner until it was painfully obvious that his master was out of town. Sometimes I’d go out and tell him, “Jon’s coming!” and watch him look up at the gate.

I could have been jealous, but the truth is that since Jon never had children of his own, he may have never had that kind of unconditional, pure adoration. Perhaps one of Lobo’s lessons was that we crave this kind of love, and appreciate the way animals give it over and over, without a second thought.

I’d like the trainer who told me dogs have no emotions to have watched the Christmas morning performance and tell us that Christmas is just another day.

 

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Posted in dogs as teachers, happiness @ 11:07 am | Permalink | 9 Comments »

July 3rd, 2014

Lobo’s Lesson #3

It didn’t take long to discover that the poor excuse for a fence around our yard was not going to keep Lobo at home. We weren’t sure all our neighbors were as enthusiastic about his presence as we were. Judi, who lives next door, gently pointed out that her husband Rick was not a dog lover. Lobo was turning up at the kitchen door, golden eyes hopeful. And, they had a wildlife pond where they liked to watch…wildlife. Which probably wouldn’t come to the pond if it was constantly guarded by a huge, hungry puppy.

We bought an invisible fence. You put up one wire, which is electrified, and train the dog (again, hopefully with just a few shocks) to stay away from the fence. Great theory, and I’ve seen it work.

But, passion can withstand pain, as Lobo taught us quickly. It didn’t take long for him to learn that jumping over the fence wasn’t that hard (it was only four ft. high at the highest) and didn’t hurt all that much, or for very long. The advantages of Judi’s occasional bits of chicken outweighed the disadvantages. Before long, Lobo’s leap looked like a deer’s, and a path was worn to his favorite spot for clearing the fence.

Bit by bit, rumor by rumor, we discovered that Lobo was becoming the “Mayor of Sutherland Valley.” His constituents included the Gibsons uphill from us; Richard and Peggy two doors away, Rick the gardener at the end of our road, and even Bradley and Triests a half-mile away.

This discovery solved the mystery of how our young dog was gaining not only a lot of height, but too much tummy. I sent out an email imploring our friends not to feed him. “But he looks at me with those golden eyes, they would say…”

The Sonoran Desert is a region whose boundaries are free of political borders; part of the ecological territory is in the U.S. and part in Mexico. Animals who want to pass through that heavily walled and guarded border must be confused about the frustrating obstacles they meet. Likewise, the territory that Lobo came to call his own was independent of our annoying fence, or any of our neighbors’ fences. His range was bounded by his own instincts, and that’s the range he would roam until he couldn’t any more. And that was only at the end, where it wasn’t us who stopped him, but only the limits of his body.

Fortunately for us, he converted Rick, along with any other neighbors who had been reluctant. Even though he would bark at Rick when he came out into his back forty to practice shooting a bow and arrow, Rick came to understand that the problem was only that Lobo hadn’t granted him permission to use it in his territory.

As for us, we eventually just gave up. Over the years, when his leaps were compromised, he dented the fence in places to make the breach easier. In the end, I suspect Jon helped him by lowering the bar even further, to keep his pride intact.

We came to understand that as a working dog, Lobo considered this large territory to be his responsibility. He had many sub-tasks under the heading of this formidable career. There were the rabbits and squirrels, which needed to be kept under control. In later years a resident Cooper’s Hawk would roost near the bird feeder, hoping for an easy meal. This Lobo must have considered cheating, because he would bark and chase the hawk away. He had to keep track of the supply of bones he buried under various trees. Evidently he had to check on various neighbors, and so he made his rounds. Then there was the guarding of the property and the waiting for his people when they went out. Fortunately, he was well equipped with the tools for his work orders. He had a good nose, great ears, keen eyesight, speed, paws that could wound with one strike. Of course he also had courage. And there wasn’t a fence on the market that could contain these qualities.

 

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