Dog Pure Awareness blog

I had an interesting experience in the woods with Shiro a few mornings ago. We entered the woods from the field along the deer path, taking a route we know well. The snow is still deep and walking anywhere off the deer path is very difficult, so all the animals who live in the woods use the same paths. This morning, Shiro went in slowly, stopping every few yards to freeze and sniff the air. When we walk, I follow him, and when he stops I stop. He was stopping much longer than usual, highly alert. I watched him.

Deeper into the woods, at an area of dense small pines, he stopped. I stopped too, and noticed that the usual sounds of the forest were not around us. We have birds like crows who stay all winter, and some migratory birds had even returned that week, so cawing and chirping are part of the surroundings. There are woodpeckers tapping, squirrels clicking, and just the swish and creak of branches in the wind. These woods were silent. I had a déjà view experience –  a sense of something wrong.  

It took me a minute to remember: it was in the water, twice, once off of Kauai and once off of Culebra. I was swimming and a shark came near me in the water. All of the normal ocean sounds suddenly seemed to be quieted, not the waves, but the living creature sounds, the scraping of lobsters along the sand, fish waving their tails through the water, gulls and pelicans swooping around. These sounds were all gone.  I knew that I was in danger and swam as fast as I could to shore.

It was the same feeling of danger in the woods that morning. As I was remembering, Shiro, who hadn’t moved, turned and came back to me. He led me out of the forest.

On the deer path there were so many tracks overlapping each other, so many journeys, that I hadn’t seen anything unusual. But back at the field I looked closely. And there, where Shiro had not yet gone, were many tracks that looked a lot like Shiro’s, a pack of dog-like tracks, that could only be coyotes. They had come across the field and entered the woods ahead of us. They were the danger.

On Friday the 13th at midnight Shiro and I were on the Jordan Rich show, WBZ radio out of Boston. I say “Shiro and I” because although it was radio and Shiro didn’t talk, his presence was central.

When we arrived, Jordan, who is a genuinely friendly, really nice person, gave us a tour of the CBS building. My literary publicist Ellen Corrado and her daughter Sarah were with us and he showed us the WBZ TV studio, with its glowing green weather set and its millions of lights, letting Sarah sit in the anchor’s chair – it was all very exciting. But these are reporters and talent who work at all hours, munching crumbling donuts with their coffee, and Shiro (who was off leash) was under the desks of everyone – famous and not. He was having a great time.

Jordan later said that Shiro’s presence broke down barriers. It was an interesting observation because Jordan himself is a master at relaxing guests, encouraging callers, and bringing out the best in people. He was recognizing something in Shiro that is in himself. They were attuned to each other.

When we had been on air for a while Shiro got tired and went to sleep under the table. Jordan actually noticed that he was gone and asked “where’s Shiro?”. It was wonderful. I didn’t have to think, didn’t worry about what would happen next – we were all together, connected by Shiro’s energy.

I just posted 5 more haikus by Chloe to see if they give us any insight into the way she relates differently to the various beings in her life.

The bearded human fears to see me grow.

He thinks I’ll dump his canoe.

6.

I cock my head and strain to grasp their meaning.

Alas!  they don’t speak dog.

7.

The trainer with the squirt bottle is to be feared.

She understands me.

8.

The little human with striped socks is a push-over.

She gives biscuits.

9.

The human keeps telling me to sit.

Let her sit! I have things to do.

Yes, we need to hear from Chloe. If Chloe only responds to “Bob’s” sneezing, we need to ask her what distinguishes Bob’s sneezing from Bev’s (or anyone elses). Now here is another thought: Bob is the male leader of the pack. Is it possible that his sneezing is more significant in some way to Chloe because he is the male leader? I know that Shiro treats Soren, the male pack leader, differently from the rest of us. And Bryce, before he died, responded differently to Soren also.

Meg, thank you for your kind and insightful words about the book. As you saw, I have great difficulty with death. I know that some people have reached an inner state of acceptance, but as much as I have studied and practiced spiritual traditions, I have not reached that acceptance. In the woods with Shiro I feel the oneness of everything and the sense that death is a return to that unity. But in the house, in the human world, I go into an inner state of fear when a close companion, dog or human, dies.

Anyway, I’m glad that my struggle with this, and Paul’s comment, helped with Henry’s death. Paul made that comment years ago and I never forgot it. Maybe (I am thinking out loud now) I should try writing more about the death of one’s dog. I know that many very good people have already done this, but another work from a slightly different perspective can’t hurt.

Here is Bev’s original comment that I am moving so that we can read it again:

This is an odd attunement instance. Our current dog, Chloe, a black lab/maybe border collie mix, (rescue puppy) is very intelligent and connected to both of us. She studies us when we talk to her, cocking her head as though struggling to comprehend our spoken language and file away the messages. Her oddest piece of “caretaking” ( and I know I’m anthropomorphizing here) occurs when my husband sneezes. Wherever in the house she is, she will rush to him, and attempt to climb in his lap and lick his face. Last night she was with me in the study, drowsing. My husband was in the next room, his back to us, but visible. Suddenly Chloe became alert, and started toward the living room. Then my husband sneezed – a whopper. She was instantly in his lap, licking his face. I think she must have been getting silent pre-sneeze vibes from his breathing, and was proactive in expressing her concern post-sneeze.

Joanna is of course right in her relational interpretation of the attunement sneeze. I think what confused me was that I don’t experience sneezes as disturbing, so I didn’t think of Chloe as tuning into the human’s upsetedness when he sneezed. (Let’s call the human Bob to make this easier to talk about). So Joanna is saying that Chloe’s response to Bob’s sneezing is like Sasha’s response to Joanna’s upsetedness on the phone, and I agree. If Chloe had had a traumatic experience as a puppy, and associated sneezing with danger, she would try to comfort or protect everyone who sneezes, and from Bev’s comment it seems that Chloe only goes to comfort or protect Bob, not anyone else. So, Bob must get upset when he sneezes, or have some feeling, some change in his inner world, that Chloe tunes into and interprets as his needing to be comforted or protected. 

Is this making sense? Do we need more facts, such as how Bob feels when he sneezes?

beauty

see Jennifer’s poem to Lucy in The Poetry of Dogs