I love animals. I have been told that I have a unique connection to animals that others don’t have. They are important to me. I see the beauty in their forms and faces. I see them in my dreams… and when they are in trouble, they find me there, so I can send them to the Light. I love my pets… and yet for years, there has been a block.
Image: Hjordis by Kristbane, DeviantArt 2015
** This is what Cricket looked like when she first came home.
I hunger for connection. I love them when they are small. I fret over them when they are sick. I make sure they have what they need, but I struggle with just being together. I don’t seem able to reach out for the love that is right there for me.
How did I get here? There was a lesson of love to be discovered.
I have always had a dog… and I have lost my dogs in a series of heart rending tragic events. It makes sense that these experiences have erected a wall between me and the love I see shining in their eyes. It’s like they are patiently waiting for me to put the pieces together. But is that the whole picture?
As a baby, I played in the tall grass in our backyard. It was a new house in a new development. It was farming land. There was no lawn, only tall grass. Mum says that she knew where I was because she could see the grass rustling. Me and my dog, making tunnels and loving each other.
I don’t know what happened to him. I have no memory of him. I regret it.
Later, I sat in the middle of a mass of wriggling bodies. They crawled over my legs and sucked my fingers. It was pure joy. One of these would be mine. How could I choose? They were all wonderful. My little sister was making a fuss about why she couldn’t have one too, but Dad explained that this would be my puppy. I called him Buster. He loved me… until she took him for a walk to the shops and then left him on the front lawn. We drove around and around. I called his name in heart broken accents, the pain in my chest was so bad, but he never answered me. My heart was empty. I don’t know what happened to him.
More wriggling puppies, but there was a distance for me now. It was not a joy. I was only eight, but I had been raped, made a pariah and outcast form my community, moved to a different town and lost daily contact with the grandparents I needed. Her name was Zara. She survived Cyclone Tracy with a twisted hip but had to be shot because Mum and us kids had been evacuated and Dad couldn’t look after her while re-building the city. I was not spared the knowledge of what happened to her.
Fade to grey… Dad finally rejoined us in Adelaide. My brother insisted that we get a puppy from the same breeders. He insisted that the new puppy be the same colour and same name. Zara II loved me when I hit rock bottom. I know she loved me. She lived to a good old age. I just couldn’t step outside my losses.
I understood all of these experiences. I accepted them. But if acceptance and understanding was the key to new behaviours, why was I still stuck decades later?
Cricket was waiting patiently for me to have the necessary breakthrough.
“No matter how close we are to another person, few human relationships are as free from strife, disagreement, and frustration as is the relationship you have with a good dog. Few human beings give of themselves to another as a dog gives of itself. I also suspect that we cherish dogs because their unblemished souls make us wish – consciously or unconsciously – that we were as innocent as they are, and make us yearn for a place where innocence is universal and where the meanness, the betrayals, and the cruelties of this world are unknown.”