Posts Tagged ‘lessons from lobo’

Lobo’s postscript

Monday, August 4th, 2014

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 | No Comments »

Lobo’s Last Lesson

Monday, July 21st, 2014

 

 

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 | 3 Comments »

Lobo’s Lesson #6

Tuesday, July 15th, 2014

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 | 7 Comments »

Lesson #4 from Lobo

Tuesday, July 8th, 2014

 

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 | 9 Comments »