A Byrd's Eye View

Dog Rescue

If I had a spiritual MRI scan, I’d probably be diagnosed with “Chronic Mental Congestion.” In fact, one health care practitioner told me my lifelong neck problem is a case of “stuck chi” or something like that. “The energy whirling around in your mind needs to be released so it can flow through your whole system,” she said.

Indeed, my practice has always been so cerebral -- meditating, chanting, studying, reading and writing – that I’ve often felt like the carved Buddha head on my bookcase. Just the head, and nothing more.

Then I got a dog.

For years my kids begged. For years I resisted. I didn’t want another life form to take care of. Most of all, I didn’t want a pet that needed to be walked.

I’m almost embarrassed to admit this, but the only dog I’d ever fallen for (prior to owning ours) was “Lambsie,” a small, shaggy poodle who’d been disabled by a run-in with a coyote. There he was at the corner pet adoption, with the face and temperament of an angel, and two hind legs that barely functioned. For the first time in my life, I wanted to take home a dog. But the pet adoption ladies didn’t think first-time dog owners were the right match for a “special needs” dog. Wahhh.

Although we weren’t going to be given Lambsie, my heart had opened and my kids smelled opportunity. They began surfing the online pet adoption sites. Before long, my obsession surpassed even theirs. Then, one day, we got a call from Bichons and Buddies Pet Rescue organization. It seemed there was a purebred Bichon Frise named “Buddy” who needed a new home. The dog’s owner, Bob, had gotten Buddy a year ago to keep him company as he recovered from brain surgery. Then Bob had a relapse and passed away. Bob’s wife had to return to work and couldn’t care for the Buddy any longer.

I had one last panic attack, bought a supply of plastic poop disposal bags, and made the family swear up and down that they’d all help with the dog -- especially when it came to the walking.

We got the dog. The family all pitched in. We shared in the walks. For awhile. Then it all changed. No, it wasn’t that the kids flaked on me. It was that I elbowed them out of the job. Because I discovered something truly amazing …

Walking is a good thing.

I lost weight. I built up endurance and got a bit of muscle tone. I met all my neighbors, and their dogs, too. I found that walking is a great way to clear my mind and take a break from my writing and my family several times a day. But best of all I found out --

Walking effortlessly integrates my mind and my body.

When I walk, my entire being automatically shifts into an open, meditative state. I go from being a head full of energy to being an integrated part of the universe. It’s pretty remarkable for someone like me. And it just goes to show…

Be careful what you wish for.

The funny thing is that it turns out Buddy is a breed notorious for housebreaking problems. Bichon Frises need frequent walking. Ha ha! The joke’s on me! I ended up with the exact exact opposite of the handicapped pooch I originally coveted. And it’s wonderful.

This is why it’s risky to chant or pray for specific outcomes. “I want a dog that doesn’t need much walking” would have resulted in my missing out on the best thing that could have happened to me. Much better to ask for “that which is for my highest good and for the highest good of all others” or something along those lines. Keep it open. Because as my 8 year old recently said, “You just never know…”

No one who knows me would have imagined how much I enjoy walking every few hours, seven days a week. I try a different route each time. I take a different approach too. Sometimes I chant. Sometimes I observe my steps or my breath or the greenery around me. Sometimes I imagine I’m matching my awareness and pace to Buddy’s, paying attention to the world as he sees it.

Often I do nothing other than walk. That really is enough. More than enough. In fact, it’s the surest way for me to experience my true nature and the nature of all that surrounds me.

In response to a blog I wrote asking “What is YOUR burning question?” Rev. Ryuei replied: “…I have realized that the meaning of the Lotus Sutra and the Odaimoku is not so much that they are pointing to themselves but that they are pointing us back to ourselves, our own true nature, and that this true nature is not limited to our small, contingent, circumscribed self, but to the true nature of everything whatsoever.”

This is what often happens when I’m walking at night.. Away from the family I am involved in and attached to, away from the call of technology, away from the dishes and laundry, away from the Gohonzon and altar and meditation area, I am no longer attached to all that ties me to who I think I am or anything I feel I have to do. I experience an awareness far greater than my own “small, contingent, circumscribed self.” All the energy usually “whirling in my mind” reaches down to my toes and then back up and beyond – way beyond – until I feel as expansive as the nighttime sky. There is no separation between the flowers, the trees, the spider on the web, the empty can on the ground, and me.

On these moonlit walks I don’t just think about the connection – I feel it. I know it. I experience it in a way I have never been able to touch through any other practice.

It’s a big feeling. It’s a gentle feeling. It’s peaceful and calming and exhilarating, all at once. It’s reassuring, too, as if there’s nowhere to go during or after life, because everything is right here together where it belongs. The other evening it was so overwhelming, I had to sit down on some nearby steps and just breathe in appreciation for life. Buddy sat down next to me. The world was so quiet and full and there we were. It was astounding.

Then I had to pick up Buddy’s poop, and head on home.

All in service of a furry four-legged angel with an occasional bad temper.

I have a painting in my room with the inscription, “Most people don’t know that there are angels whose only job it is to make sure you don’t fall asleep and miss your life.” Buddy sure woke me up to a part of my life that I was missing – my spiritual life from the neck down.

You know, I used to think we rescued Buddy. Now that I write this, I realize that Buddy rescued me.

Thank you, Mardi and Jeannine, at www.BichonsandBuddies.com for bringing Buddy into our lives. (If anyone is looking for a small dog or knows a dog that needs a home, let these beautiful ladies know.) Thank you to my family, for convincing me that we are, indeed, "dog people." And thank you, Lambsie, for opening my heart.

Posted by at April 17, 2005 10:10 PM