The day before Thanksgiving holds special significance for me. It was on that day in 1987 that I finished my radiation treatments and was told that I was cancer free. Every year, it becomes a time of reflection and appreciation, as well as the beginning of a new year of life and myriad possibilities. This year, my daughter called to tell me that our family dog, Heidi had died while listening to my ex-wife chant daimoku. Heidi, my brown Chesapeake Bay retriever was 15.
When a pet dies, deep emotions emerge. I am ashamed to say that my grief over the death of a pet is greater than my grieving for a human being. When my dad died the day before the presentation of my academic paper on Modern Buddhist Healing at DePaul University, I viewed it as an obvious appearance of sansho shima that presented itself to deter me from presenting my findings. Instead of grief, I became tremendously jacked up. When my brother died a year later at the age of 50, I felt only pity for him, but there was no sense of loss or anguish. He had drunk himself into an early grave, so all I could manage was to shake my head in dismay. When my mom died a year later, I had taken care of her in a home hospice situation and had come to terms with her death long before the end. Buddhism enabled me to understand that death is not the end, only a transition into a new expression of life. My reaction or behavior may seem callous or insensitive, but there were no tears or inconsolable grief.
My reaction to the death of Heidi touched me so deeply, that tears ran down my cheeks. I immediately went to the Gohonzon to pray for my beloved brown dog. Since my divorce four plus years ago, I only saw her a handful of times. My daughter (bless her heart) made sure that if she had to watch the dog while my ex was out of town, that she would meet me somewhere with Heidi, so I could take her for a walk and love her up. Heidi was an extremely plump and happy dog who loved people. Her tail and body shook whenever she greeted a friend.
The night I learned that Heidi had died, I dreamed that she was running to the Buddha, waddling like she did, with a squeak toy in her mouth and tail whipping back and forth. She ran to the Buddha and dropped her toy at His feet like an offering, and the Buddha patted her on the head.
Heidi and I had a strong connection. I rescued her from the Humane Society when she was about nine months old. It had been her second time there. Apparently, the people that had her couldn’t handle her. I remember that she was small enough that I fit her in a cat carrier for the long ride home. Although it was a mistake, I stopped at McDonalds on the way home for some food and fed her a fry. She loved me for that.
That night she died, in front of the Gohonzon, a flood of emotions overwhelmed me. I realized that Heidi had lived a magnificent life for a dog. She had heard millions of daimoku and countless recitations of the Sutra, curled up at our feet, enjoying the warmth of love and belonging. I remembered her obedience training after an episode shortly after bringing her home from the pound where she chewed apart all the wicker coasters in the house and a few pair of shoes. She knew that she had done wrong and hid in the corner with her tail between her legs. How I loved that dog.
I also remember how one day while on a walk, we were coming through an alley and encountered two German Shepherds that had gotten out of their yard. They attacked us, and she valiantly tried to defend me. It was quite a fight, but we lost. I managed to kick the larger dog so hard that it was lifted a foot in the air, but they savagely bit Heidi all over. My daughter heard the commotion and saved us from further injury by chasing the attacking dogs off with rocks. That night Heidi was taken to the University of Illinois veterinary clinic for stitches and overnight observation. The vets treated her as a hero who risked her life to protect her master. She was sent home with a cone around her neck. It was sad, but also comical at the same time. For a couple of weeks, she was our little “cone-head.”
I will miss her tremendously. Each time I ring the bell to honor the dead, I will pray for Heidi, just like I pray for all my deceased friends and loved ones. I am also comforted by the dream that the Buddha accepted her squeak toy, smiled at her, and patted her on the head. We should all be so fortunate.