She stood for a moment, her muzzle dripping, her frail body held unsteadily by pure effort, and then, with resignation, used the last of her strength to stagger back to the shade where her sister Carson lay. "Why would you do that?" I asked Vali as I stretched out beside her and stroked her head. I knew she had loved any water game, always had, but from my perspective, it hardly seemed worth using what precious little energy remained in a life to snap one more time against that which could never be caught no matter how powerful the jaws brought to bear. Her answer came quietly: "If something matters to you, you give it all you have to give." I did not know that only hours later, when the stars hung bright but silent in the sky, her heart would finally beat its last beneath my hand and she would be gone. I never suspected that just hours after her death, her final lesson to me would need to be put to the test. A short time after the sun rose as it does on both the grief and joy awaiting in each day, I went to tell a friend that Vali was dead. This was the same friend who had lashed out at me a few months earlier. Foolishly, hurting, needing to talk to someone who had known Vali all her life, I hoped for a little tea and sympathy. And for a few minutes, that's what I got before the sympathy evaporated and the conversation turned to my friend and her troubles. The tea in my cup had not yet cooled when what had begun as a sharing of loss became an intense exploration of my friend's problems and fears. With a huge wave of fatigue, I thought to myself that I did not have any energy for this, that right at this moment I was much too emotionally exhausted to be able to respond to or even care much about someone else's woes. More than anything, I wanted to curl up in sad silence and grieve for a good dog. As I tried to shape the sentences that might let me escape this moment and my friend's needs, I suddenly saw Vali moving unsteadily in the sunshine to bite the water. It mattered to her, and she gave it all she had, even when all was very little indeed. My friend continued to cry and talk and accuse, and watching her from a calm, quiet distance, I asked myself, Does this friend matter to you? The answer was that of course she did. The next question was that if I knew this was her
last day or mine, would I still be willing to walk away, holding my weariness and sadness as a shield against hearing her and offering what I had to offer? I did love this woman, and this relationship was critically important to me. Though my sorrow was real and my grief deserved time to be honored, this was a need of the living. And so, reaching deep inside me for that same determination that moved a dying dog to one last round of a favorite game, I opened myself to listening to the hurting, lonely woman who needed to be heard. I do not know what would have happened if, having finished my tea, I had chosen the easier route and extricated myself from that situation. I do know that what I did that morning made a difference in that friend's life. Yet even if it had not, the difference this made in my life was important in and of itself. Vali's lesson for me was an extension of McKinley's: If we choose with awareness, there need not be regrets. Make no mistake. Vali's lesson has not mutated into an unrealistic martyrdom where no matter how I'm feeling, I can always find time for someone else's needs. That was not the lesson. It was about making aware investments of my life's energy. the most difficult of all There was once a time when I would have said that the greatest lesson our dogs could help us learn was how to be humane as well as human. Foolishly, as all beginners do, I thought that this was my destination, this beautiful white space between me and an animal, this place where an invitation to dance is sent and accepted. Here, I am now learning, is simply the place to which I had to come so that I could begin the real work of life: learning to love other human beings. In his Letters on Love, German poet Rainer Maria Rilke wrote, "For one human being to love another: that is perhaps the most difficult of all our tasks, the ultimate, the last test and proof, the work for which all other work is but preparation." It is ironic that in all the times I've both said and heard "I prefer animals to people," never once had I stopped and wondered, What if animals said the same to us? What if our dogs looked at us and decided, as we ourselves may have long ago decided, that people really are rather cruel and terrible and, frankly, not worth being with. "Wait," we would wail, "it's
other people who are like that, not us! Not us, the animal lovers, the ones who love furred and feathered ones more than we love our own kind. Look how kindly we treat you, how fervently we defend you, how much love and attention we shower on you! You can't turn away from us," we would cry. And if the animals continued on, their backs to us, unwilling to be with us, a quiet whimper might be heard, "If you leave us, who then will love us?" And the dogs might look back at us and softly ask, "How is it that you've missed the most important lesson of them all?" By example, relentlessly, willingly, and so very well, dogs show us the importance of love offered without judgment or condition. They show us the value of being accepted as we are. And they show us, over and over again, that a life spent loving even misguided, confused, unsure human beings is a life well spent. All that our dogs might bring into our lives pales before this challenge to learn how to love each other as they love us. It is the work of a lifetime, to be sure, but we've chosen well when we choose to keep our cold-nosed angels at our side for the journey. Just above a dog's paw, where rough pad curves in fullness outward and upward and then, giving way to fur, turns back in toward the body, there is a hollow. Framed by the living steel of sinew and bone, that hollow fits my thumb as if made by my own thumbprint long ago, perhaps in another lifetime when I was handmaiden to a minor goddess. If even a minor goddess is granted the powers to shape things in small ways, then I might have asked for just one thing for the future me: this hollow here just above a dog's paw. And I would have asked for this so that at some moment in the future the perfect fit of my thumb into that place would serve as a reminder that since time out of mind, for lifetimes without measure, my soul and this dog's had been together, intertwined in the great ocean of life. In wondering if the hollow was shaped to fit my thumb or my thumb to fill that hollow, I would remember that we are all holder and held, teacher and taught, guide and guided. I would set this hollow here for my future self to remember that even when a heartbeat no longer pulsed faintly under my hands, when my thumb reluctantly stilled its gentle rhythms of stroking the soft fur, our connection would go on. In this simple, sweet hollow, I would mark the dog as my fellow traveler, and my teacher.
How do we possibly measure the grace granted us by our dogs? Capable of dramatic teachings, our dogs also move subtly but as relentlessly as water, the flow of their spirit working within us in ways we may not even know. How do we know what it is they have helped us to learn? Sometimes, this is how we discover the changes: Every step we take is different, easier, informed by knowledge that has quietly, surely soaked deep into our bones. This understanding seems so right, answers the thirst within us so well we may forget how freshly we have come to this, forget who we were before we embraced this wisdom. Our heads tell us that once, somehow, in a way we can no longer remember, we did move through the world without the understanding that we now possess. We are grateful but mystified, and we wonder how we ever found our way with such a faulty map. Somehow, we did find our way, and we will keep moving forward. And always, traveling beside us, the angels who both guide and guard us. Coursing through our veins as surely as our own blood are the lessons we have mastered through effort, and through no small measure of grace gifted us by the animals who serve as our teachers. We could no more separate ourselves now from what we know, what we have learned, than we could strip the marrow from our own bones. Folding into ourselves what we have learned as well as what we have blindly accepted in faith, often without fully understanding it, trusting simply that it was a great and good gift, we grow. And as we stretch, the bonds of fear that seemed so mighty once, when we were smaller than we are today, begin to fray, become weak attempts to bind us to a lesser version of ourselves. When we drink from the well of wisdom, our souls begin to stir and stretch, awakening from a slumber we did not know was so deep. With growing hope, we underst
and that we can learn to fly. Fledglings, we perch on the edge of our lives and begin to flap our wings in the sure knowledge that we are growing toward the day when we throw ourselves onto the wind and trust to its flow. acknowledgments in early february 1997,1 wrote a letter that began "It's only fair to warn you. There's something in my brain, and it's trying to get out." And friends and supporters answered with the help I needed. I was right- there was something in my brain, and it's now made its escape.
But on that cold February night, I could not have foreseen that it would be almost exactly four years later before I was able to say "Here. This is what your love and support have made possible." For their patience, generosity and belief that I had something of value to say, I offer this book to the people who answered that letter. Though I would love to say something about each and every one of these fine folk, it is best perhaps to simply say that they and their dogs have made a profound difference comeach in their own way-in my life. The dogs listed for each person may not be the dogs who accompany them today through life, but they are the dogs that appear in my mind's eye, forever and always at the side of the person they loved and who loved them: Annabell Minty (misty, Shane, Meggie); Steve Reiman (lily, Jordan]", Sarah Johnson (nokomis); Mike Johnson; Kit Burke and Terry Modlesky (destiny); Nancy Beach (rosie, Honor); Bill Carroll (tasha, Kansas); Barbara Warner (casey); Marge Wappler (joker); Linda Caplan (jagger, Dodger, Queenie, Brutus); Deb Gillis (nugget, Strider, Sterling); Claire Moxim (andy); Betty Ferrare; Pat Barlow (schoen, Gina); Harriet Grose; Wayne Rebarber (misha); Anne and Ray Smith; Marian Nealey (sam);
acknowledgments
Mary Legge (utah, Chance, Tira, Cruiser, Trooper); Bonnie Goldberg Rubin; Beth Taylor (woody, Tessa);
Chris Civil (indy, Alex); Joy Nutall (devon, Halo); Cliff Peabody (little John, Gunner); Rose Ellen Dunn (blaze, Kelly, Finn); Dale and Peter Demy (lucky, Rowdy); Sherry Holm (jim, Dax); Paul Koehler (ilka, Cree, Redbone); Amelie Seelig (sailor, Tammy); Gail James (buddy, Chance); Deb Hutchinson (joppa, Gage, Josh); Jane Guy (jenny, Kosmo); Cecilia Hoffman (mouse, Charlie); Janet Devich (aneaka, Cyrus, Morgan); Marietta Huber (licorice); Billie Rosen (cam); Rosemary Rybak (jamie, Teddy, Zena, Sesame, Hannah); Lynne Fickett (jazz, Sizzle, Chase); Diana Hoyem (land); and Tom O'Dowd (buddy). Special thanks to my friends Cheryl Smagala (prince, Token, Nikki, Axel); Karen Lessig (tonya, Castor, Reveille, Ana, Caber); and Kathy and Karl Huppert (george, Ruffy, Mr. P, Samara). They have seen me through more than a few ups and downs and a few head-on collisions with life. For her unflagging encouragement to make this book a reality, my thanks to Dr. Helen Greven (angus).
For her diligent work as critical reader, my thanks to Beth Levine (owen, Wren); someday she'll learn not to talk to strange manuscripts. For helpful suggestions and comments, I would also like to thank Dr. Thomas Blass and Dr. Marc Bekoff (jethro). To my agent, Lisa Ross, I offer my immense gratitude for her wise, patient guidance through strange waters. Without her, I would surely have lost sight of the shore. Many thanks to my editors, Jackie Joiner and Jessica Papin, for their support. To all at Warner Books, my thanks for working so diligently to polish up Bones and dress it in its Sunday best. With so many talented people dedicated to this task, Bones cleaned up right nice. For extraordinary service as cheerleaders, counselors, critics and sounding boards, for having poured hours of their own lives into mine, for the love and support and tireless reading of yet another version, and for unwavering belief in me, I thank Wendy Herkert (chance, Panda, Quill), Katrene Johnson (danny, Morgan), Ginny Debbink (doc, Annie, Beckett, Crow, Hudson), Terry Wright (kaji), Janie Dillon (tristan), Kathy Marr (pork, Krista), Nancy Sickels (brook, Lark), Judy Gardner (garen, Tasy, Bo and so many others) and Carter Volz (trina, Bisser). For reading on the deepest level of all, I thank Marlene Sandier (charlie, Gaia). These are friends beyond compare, friends who would make very fine dogs indeed. For a lifetime of putting up with a barking daughter,
wild tales and sometimes strange projects, for her proud support of all that I have been and might still be, much love and unbounded thanks to my mother, Betty Livingston. For struggling with a mother not yet made even slightly wise by dogs and other creatures, I thank my beloved son, Christian Clothier. It is important to gratefully acknowledge the teachers who have shaped who I am. I hope that their influence on me is evident: Linda Tellington-Jones, Ian Dunbar, Jack and Wendy Volhard. I would also like to thank the teachers-or, more accurately, the heroes-I have never met but whose work and thoughts have informed my own to a great degree: Konrad Lorenz, Jane Goodall, David Mech, Franz de Waal, Temple Grandin, . Allen Boone, John Bradshaw, Gary Zukav, Alan Watts and Dr. Bruce Fogle. I believe that messages and lessons are all around us; we need only tune our hearts to hear them. For the music that poured into me on a summer night in Saratoga, pulsing through me at a moment when I needed it most, for the urging to surrender the fear and fly and for providing a remarkably inspiring example of what is possible when you do, I thank Michael Stipe and REM. Though writing this book was an adventure in pushing an elephant up the stairs and trying to keep those flowers in full bloom, my feet were made lighter on this journey by the music of REM beating in time with my heart. Writing is a solitary act, and in moving toward that solitude, I had to move away from my best friend, my partner, my husband, John Rice. Of all the gifts that dogs have brought me through the years, none can compare with this wonderful man. Without complaining, with unfailing patience, good humor and generosity, he shouldered an ever-increasing burden of responsibility for our farm and animals. Only he knows the true cost of writing this book. What he does not fully understand is that it would have been nearly impossible without him. And yet he still smiles at the idea of the books yet to come. Proving, of course, that he's much too easily amused. And this would not be complete without acknowledging each and acknowledgments
every animal who has touched my life and allowed me
to touch theirs. My life has been richly blessed by these gracious teachers. I cannot possibly repay them, only share what they have helped me learn. If this book helps just one person find their way to the dance, then I will have begun in some small measure to give appropriate thanks for the gifts I have received. Suzanne Clothier Hawks Hunt Farm recommended reading since I AM FREQUENTLY ASKED what books or people have influenced my own thinking, I offer this list of recommended titles. Mind you, not all of these titles are here because I agree wholeheartedly with what is found between their covers. Each of these are books that were valuable in one way or another for me, and I believe they may also be valuable for some readers who thirst for deeper understanding. Some of these titles were written by people I would consider kindred spirits who see the world very much as I do. Some books are listed here because they provoked me to carefully consider perspectives that I might have missed but for the author's encouragement to think or feel or view the world in a certain way. Some of these books annoyed or even angered me, and so provoked thought and discussion and a search to make more concrete in my own mind what was more in alignment with my soul and my philosophy. It is never enough to flatly state "That makes no sense to me!" or "Bah, I don't believe that!" You must also be willing to do the work of discovering and knowing (truly, deeply knowing) what does make sense to you and what it is you actually do believe, and which direction you wish to go and why. To the extent that you are willing to do that work, any book or viewpoint or teaching or teacher-even if they stand in direct opposition to what you believe-can work to your benefit and on your behalf, strengthening your understanding of yourself and your preferred paths through life.
recommended reading
In addition to these titles that shaped my philosophy, there were so many events, people and animals that cannot be referenced. Would that I could recommend to each reader the great experience of time spent in the company of any of those who have taught me so much: the incredible McKinley or Valinor or my beloved Bear, to name but a few. But I trust that when you
curl up with one of the books listed belo
w, your own special teachers and guides are there beside you. Listen carefully to what they have to tell you. I've deliberately avoided any brief description, synopsis or even short review of these books. I leave it to the reader to follow their own curiosity and their own hearts and minds. Explore. Enjoy. Stretch yourself. Listen with an open heart. . . Arluke, Arnold, and Clinton . Sanders. Regarding Animals. Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1996. Beck, Alan, and Aaron Katcher. Between Pets and People: The Importance of Animal Companionship. West Lafayette, IN: Purdue University Press, 1996. Bolen, Jean Shinoda. Close to the Bone. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1996. Boone, . Allen. Kinship with All Life. San Francisco: Harper, 1954. Bradshaw, John. Creating Love. New York: Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing, 1993. Csikszentmihalyi, Mihaly. Finding Flow. New York: Basic Books, 1998. . Flow. San Francisco: HarperCollins, 1991. Dawkins, Marian Stamp. Through Our Eyes Only? The Secret for Animal Consciousness. Oxford University Press, 1998. de St. Exupery, Antoine. The Little Prince. New York: MacMillan Reference Library, 1995. . Wind, Sand and Stars. New York: Harcourt Brace and Company, 1939. de Waal, Franz. Chimpanzee Politics: Power and Sex among Apes. London: The Johns Hopkins Press Ltd., 1989. .
Goodationatured. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, bonus would rain from the sky Derr, Mark. Dog's Best Friend. New York: Henry Holt and Co., 1997. Dossey, Larry, M.d. Healing Words: The Power of Prayer and the Practice of Medicine. San Francisco: Harper, 1997. Dunbar, Ian. Dog Aggression: Biting. Oakland: Kenneth and James, 1998. . DogAggression: Fighting. Oakland: Kenneth and James, 1998. . DogBehavior. Neptune, NJCCT.H.F. Publications, Inc., 1979. . How to Teach a New Dog Old Tricks. Oakland: Kenneth and James, 1991. . Sinus Puppy Training. Oakland: Kenneth and James, 1998. Fogle, Bruce. The Dog's Mind. London: Stephen Greene Press, 1990. Goldstein, Martin, DVM. The Nature of Animal Healing. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1999. Greven, Philip. Spare the Ch. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1991. Griffin, Donald. Animal Minds. University of Chicago Press, 1992. Hearne, Vicki. Adam's Task: Calling the Animals by Name. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1986. . Bandit: Dossier of a Dangerous Dog. New York: HarperCollins, 1991. Katra, Jane Targ, and Russell Targ.
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