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Vigil of the Cemetery Dog |
| September 27, 2006 by Stuart |
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(The following story was sent to us by Diane, in Seattle)
Excerpted from the book, "Animals as Teachers & Healers",
by Susan Chernak McElroy.
Going Gently chapter: Vigil of the Cemetery Dog
My seventeen-year-old son was killed in a diving accident. Only a parent who has lost a child can understand the personal devastation. The evening before the accident, I happened to drive by our local cemetery. Sitting next to the fence was a stray dog. She sat on a small knoll between two trees, seemingly waiting for someone. She looked like a bedraggled red fox. Little did I know that three days later I would be burying my son on the exact spot where the little dog waited.
On the day of my son’s funeral service, I saw the little dog again. She was standing a short distance away from where we gathered at the cemetery. The next morning, just before dawn, I went to visit my son’s grave for the first time. And sitting beside the mound of flowers at his graveside was the little red dog. As I approached, she rose and stepped back a few feet, as if in respect. When I sat on the ground by the grave, she came back and sat beside me, not touching me or asking for attention for herself. She seemed to just “be there” for me. Together we watched the sun rise, and I felt a slight touch of peace. I arose and she walked me back to my car, then returned to my son’s grave and lay down on it. The next morning was a repeat of the first. There she was, nestled beside the flowers. As she sat beside me, I ran my hand down along her back. She was slightly wet, as if from night dew. “You have been here all night?” I asked. She answered with a slight wag of her tail. “What are you? Some kind of a guardian angel?” She turned toward me and looked at me with eyes that seemed to reach my very soul. I began to cry and tell her of my terrible pain, and she sat and listened.
The next morning, there she was. Beginning to think of someone besides myself, I had brought a bowl of food and some water for her. Apparently someone else had noticed that little dog was doing twenty-four-hour duty, because there was a bowl of water by the grave. Knowing that my son wasn’t alone, that he had this small dog with him, began to give me comfort. I remembered that several years before, my son and a friend had rescued a small red dog that had been shot with an arrow. My son named her Callie, and she stayed on as a beloved pet until an untimely accident took her life.
After about a week, I took the cemetery dog home with me. Strangely enough, she was quiet and subdued. I couldn’t think of a name for her. Then one day, I said, “You know something? You look just like old Callie.” It was as if I’d hit a magic switch. “Callie” stood up and, tail wagging furiously, ran over to me and put her paw up on my knee. It was as if she had finally “come home”.
Who is this dog who showed me my son’s cemetery plot, and then did round-the-clock sentry duty when my son was laid to rest there? Who is this dog who was there to help me through the greatest trauma of my life, who now shares my home and helps fill the lonely moments? Is there such a thing as reincarnation, and are dogs reincarnated? I don’t know. I just know that she came into my life in a very mysterious way. My other dogs couldn’t give me the comfort that this little red dog did, and still does.
Callie has since become TDI (Therapy Dogs International)-certified. I take her on regular visits to our local nursing home where she has become the “adopted dog”. I am very proud of Callie. During the days following the Oklahoma bombing, TDI-certified dogs—including my Callie—were taken to the rescue center and to the church where victims’ families were waiting. Callie, with her gentle way, made many friends. In an especially touching moment, a medical worker sat on the floor with her arms around Callie, petting her and sharing her personal pain. It reminded me of myself as I sat with Callie at my son’s grave only last June. I’d never thought one way or another about angels or guardians but now I know there is such a thing. |
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Trees Are Family: A Story From Russia |
| August 15, 2006 by admin |
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In a remote area of one of the mountainous regions of Russia, just north of Mongolia, commercial industrial interests will soon begin tearing up this land that grandparents and great grandparents, and great, great grandparents grew up on. Trees will be cut down, and worst of all, the sacred places - a bald patch on a mountain, and a hill - are at risk of being violated.
"Bad things happen when trees are cut down", the people say. "A child can get sick, or all of our cattle might die. Maybe there will be a flood. Our nature is very easily offended."
The villagers in this region practice Buryat shamanism, a set of beliefs that centers around a reverence for nature. Trees and rivers are worshiped. The main prayer rite in the spring celebrates "the earth waking up". Upset deities can be troublesome.
"Technologically, we are becoming more modern", one woman being interviewed said. "But we have lost the sense of living. I'm not against civilization. But my forefathers are from the trees. I am afraid for them."
Adapted from a New York Times article, Feb 19, 2003. (Photo of Mongolian trees is by satellite360. Some rights reserved.
Please also read the comments about trees made by Fear-No-More Zoo Founder Adi Da Samraj. |
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Native American Story: Alice Talks to Bees |
| August 7, 2006 by admin |
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From the book Rolling Thunder by Doug Boyd. Rolling Thunder was a well known Cherokee medicine man with whom Doug Boyd spent time in the early 1970's. (Photo at left by RogerGW shows a black horehound. Some rights reserved).
The tent was down and nearly folded when Rolling Thunder drove into camp with Alice. Spotted Eagle ran back to the main tent to fold up Alice's camp chairs and Coleman stove.
Alice came down the path toward me, walking very fast.
"I want to tell you something," she puffed. "I had the most interesting experience gathering herbs up there," she said, "and I'm so anxious to tell you about it. It couldn't have happened without Rolling Thunder, I know, but I actually communicated with the bees. I actually talked to them and they understood."
She was excited. "Rolling Thunder told me on the way back. He said, 'Now you tell Doug first and then you write it all down.' He said that you should write about the mind and consciousness things, and that I should write about animals and wildlife. Is that what you are doing?"
"Well, maybe. I guess so, sort of," I answered.
"Well, you should. Anyway, we went to get horehound plants up there near the old ranch. Rolling Thunder knew right where they were. He agreed to show me because he knew I needed horehounds. As soon as we got there Rolling Thunder made his prayer and his offering. Then I saw that the plants were absolutely covered with bees. I'm deathly afraid of bees; it frightens me just to look at them and they always sting me. So I just didn't know what to do. I was just ready to leave. Well, Rolling Thunder talked to me; he was so kind and gentle. He sensed what I was feeling, without my saying anything. He told me I was really not afraid of animals or any living thing. I only thought I was. And he reminded me how I had always loved animals and had taken care of them on a farm in my childhood.
"He told me that the fear of any living thing is based on misunderstanding. He said, 'Now, Alice, I want you to talk to those bees. I saw how you talked to the dogs just a little while ago. You talked to the babies and to the mother and you said the right things in the right way. If you can talk to dogs that way, you can talk to bees, and they will understand. They won't understand the English language, but they'll understand your meaning as you say it.'
"So he told me what to say to the bees. I was supposed to ask the bees to share the plants with me, to tell them I wouldn't harm them, and to explain that I needed the plants for good medicine, but I would leave enough for the bees and for seeds for the coming year. He told me to say it loud and clear. He said he would be sitting behind me, and he wanted to be able to hear my voice.
"I did as he said, and, do you know, the bees actually understood me, and they moved! I just can't describe how I felt. All the bees on the plant I was looking at moved. They all moved together to the back of the plant. I took only the front half of the plant which they had left me, and then I moved to another plant covered with bees, and the same thing happened again! On one of the plants, when the bees moved back and I started to cut, they all made the strangest buzzing sound. It felt as though they were somehow speaking, telling me to stop, and I was understanding.
"I looked at Rolling Thunder and he said, 'There now, you see? You and the bees have agreed to share and now you're cutting back too far. They'll expect you, now, to do as you said.' So I cut only the front half very carefully. Then Rolling Thunder came up to me." She paused and she appeared to be filled with emotion. "And he said that this was a gift of the Great Spirit!"
We also recommend The Bridge To God, a Talk by the Avataric Great Sage Adi Da Samraj (founder of Fear-No-More Zoo) about the participatory attitude that allows Nature to be a bridge to the Divine. |
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Secret Wallaby Life... |
| December 30, 2005 by Stuart |
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A story by Stuart Camps. Pictured at right is a rock wallaby unrelated to the story. (Photo taken by k-girl; some rights reserved.)
They aren't very far from Bald Rock National Park (in Australia), on a long, high, ridge of a cattleman's property. There are two rocky outcroppings about 300 meters apart. Both outcrops comprise a dozen or so large granite boulders arranged in a lazy pile on the edge of a high bluff. Adorned with orchids, moss and the twisted, stone-breaking, roots and trunks of rock figs, the rounded grey boulders form a safe fortress for the shy family of rock wallabies who live here. The outcrops themselves are all but hidden amid the tall eucalyptus woodlands, which fan out over the slopes and ridges. You could easily walk right on by the towering fortress and never even see it, or its wallabies. The wallaby clan must have been inhabiting these rocks through untold time, generation upon generation.
The evening is coming down cool and slow. The valley air is thinning and the western sky is turning softly purple... there are some clouds. The wallabies know I am there, having watched me from their caves as I crept closer and closer, until I came to sit on my rock as motionless as they sit upon theirs. I watch and breath and let time fall away. They gradually accept my presence a little and begin to move about on the fortress again. Two sentries take up positions to keep a watch on me. They sit on their haunches, like small Buddhas, with furry tails plopped out between their padded feet.
One adult and another younger one, a fairly independent joey, sit on respective ledges gazing silently out over the dusky valley. Their stillness is the same deep calm that fills the early evening. Looking, looking, looking out over the rolling plains... transfixed, meditative, absorbed in the endless stretch of view, and timeless space. Occasionally one of the group hops up or down across the boulders to take up a new vantage.
Further up the ridge among the second outcrop of boulders another smaller group of wallabies reside, a handful of possibly un-attached males who have been "run off" from the larger clan perhaps. They probably keep to themselves for the most part.
After sitting with the larger group for a good while, what impresses me most about this tribe of wallabies is the contemplative, or meditative, nature of their culture. Their main occupation seems to be to spend as much time as they can just sitting, meditating, contemplating the mystery and moment of their small patch of existence. They are very aware and conscious of everything in their environment. The way they live and move together seems to be structured around their need and interest in living a contemplative, peaceful and unobtrusive life. Their sensitivity to my presence is acute. They are instantaneously responsive to my movements. And they always maintain themselves with calmness and depth. They can clearly become upset, or disturbed, momentarily, but they are not otherwise disturbed. Even the younger joey maintains a depth that feels profound, much more profound than myself. The rocks, trees, the very mountainside, all feel the same, and I sense that the wallabies are combined with this, sustained and informed by it.
This little family, community and culture of rock wallabies still remains untouched by man and unharmed... living as they have for centuries, holding their energy in this place, each generation passing the culture along just as one breath eases into the next... or how the breeze moves in over the ridge-tops as the sun drops behind the hills, wordlessly evolving, and involving, the timeless cycles of ancient wallaby life, and nature... |
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The Pig Farmer |
| July 14, 2005 by admin |
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The following story by John Robbins was forwarded by one of our readers (Paul M. of New Zealand). It's on the long side, though not too long, and an easy, good read.
The Pig Farmer
(Pictured at right is Gunther of Fear-No-More Zoo.) |
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An Encounter With Rattlesnake Integrity |
| June 29, 2005 by admin |
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A personal story by Stuart Camps, director of Fear-No-More Zoo. (Photo at right by Geekly is of a rattlesnake unrelated to the story. Some rights reserved.)
It was a beautiful rattlesnake; about four feet long, as thick as my forearm, and with a large handsome rattle. His skin was fresh and rich. Having caught him to move him safely to an area away from people, I now sat just a few feet from this calm, elegant, clearly perceptive and sensitive reptile. He was in no hurry to race off among the bushes and rocks, so I decided to stay around also.
From the moment I caught him, this snake showed no fear at all. Now, alone, away from the distractions of the small crowd that had been around us during the capture, we paused together for a moment. I was suddenly moved to praise him for his handsome appearance, his beautiful rattle, his smooth, flickering tongue. Being a mature snake, who had lived a good many years, he remained calm, steady, and quietly confident -- motionless -- his tongue slipping out from his mouth every few seconds.
Most snakes have an integrity that few humans achieve. As we sat, quietly exchanging energies and appreciation, I understood, or was reminded again, of his simple "beingness". We had connected with each other as equals at heart, both of us existing within the same Life, regardless of our apparent differences in form or function. When I rose and left, the big old rattlesnake stayed unmoving, except for his "feeling" tongue, reminding me further of our mutuality, despite appearances and apparent differences. I thanked him for his trust and instruction.
NOTE: Please always maintain complete care and respect around snakes. They can be dangerous if provoked or startled. |
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Brownie—A Dog Story |
| June 21, 2005 by admin |
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[Abbreviated from the book Next of Kin by Roger Fouts (New York, New York: Avon Books, 1997).]
By the time the sun was going down our Chevy flatbed was piled high with boxes of cucumbers. It was time to head home for dinner. My nine-year-old brother, Ed, headed out on our older brother's bike, chaperoned by Brownie (our dog). Twenty minutes later the rest of us clambered onto the truck with my twenty-year-old brother, Bob, driving.
As the truck drove along the well-worn tire ruts it kicked up a huge cloud of dust that covered us on all sides, making it impossible to see more than two feet ahead. After going along for a while, we suddenly heard Brownie barking loudly and very persistently. We looked down and we could just make her out next to the front fender. She was sniping at the right front tire. This was very strange behavior. Brownie had come to the fields hundreds of times and had never once barked at the truck. But now she was practically attacking it. Bob thought this was odd but didn't give Brownie much thought as he plowed ahead, even as her barking became more frenzied. Then, without further warning, Brownie dove in front of the truck's front tire. Bob hit the brakes, and we all got out. Brownie was dead. And right there in front of the truck, not ten feet away, was Ed, stuck on his bike in a deep tire rut, unable to escape. Another two seconds and we would have run him down.
Brownie's death was devastating to all of us. No one doubted for a second that Brownie had sacrificed her own life to save my brother's. She saw a dangerous situation unfolding, and she did what she had to do to protect the boy she had been baby-sitting for so many years. |
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The Rattlesnake That Didn't Strike |
| June 14, 2005 by admin |
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[From the book Animal Talk, by Penelope Smith (Hillsboro, Oregon: Beyond Words Publishing, 1999)]
My only knowledge of rattlesnakes came secondhand, from Western movies where the cowboy shot, or had his horse trample the dangerous creatures before they struck. My first encounter with a rattlesnake in 1982 showed me a whole different aspect of their nature.
We were hiking in the hilly trails of Griffith Park in Los Angeles with our dogs. Rana, our female Afghan, was running just ahead of us, when I heard the loud rattle. We got Pasha on the leash and quickly caught up to Rana, who was less than a year old. She was bouncing around and woofing at the large, coiled-up rattlesnake. The snake was ready to strike, and Rana, in her great excitement, did not heed my pleas to come or move away.
I knew that if I hurriedly grabbed for her, the snake might strike me. So I calmly told that snake that we did not mean to harm him; Rana was just a puppy playing. I was going to reach for Rana and take her away from disturbing him, and we would walk in the other direction. I respectfully asked if he would uncoil and go the other way. I then grabbed Rana's collar and pulled her away. The snake stopped rattling, uncoiled, and traveled in the opposite direction.
To find out more about Penelope Smith's work go to www.animaltalk.net. |
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"Planet Bytes" is a service mark of the Avataric Samrajya of Adidam Pty Ltd.
Original photos & writings are
© 2005-2006 The Avataric Samrajya of Adidam Pty Ltd, as trustee for The Avataric Samrajya of Adidam.
All rights reserved. Perpetual copyright claimed.
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