Walks with Dogs

“Why is my karma like this today?” I was devastated. Things went horribly wrong for this nicest of men and it all happened through good intentions. It’s a tangled web like a Curb Your Enthusiasm episode.

Wingfield Park, Reno, Nevada

The setting was so tranquil. It was, ironically, International Peace Day, and I was at sunny Wingfield Park on the banks of the Truckee River, with friends. The UN declared this to be a day off; a global cease-fire. But how can this be when we so easily misunderstand each other? Being the ghoul I am, I will check to see how many Afghanis and Iraqis and Palestinians died today. And on the local scene, I can describe this one little soul murder.

I was promoting TrailSafe, the organization I founded to promote humane treatment of pets and wildlife. The day was productive; I had three pages of signatures on my sign-up sheet, and numerous pleasant conversations. About one in the afternoon, a little girl I had met earlier came running up to me. A dog was in trouble, as the official animal person of the day, would I help? She was about third or fourth grade and she was breathless. A dog was down by the river, chained for at least two hours with no owner. She had already fed it a hot dog, but this animal needed more help. She added that it cringed when she approached, clearly had been mistreated. It had a cruel choke collar, and the collar was too tight. She couldn’t fit two fingers under it.

Here was sublime ego flattery. Had I not fashioned myself the savior of the animals, Saint Francesca of Reno? I dropped everything I was doing to follow the child down the broad stones to the riverbank where her aunt was waiting. I recognized the aunt from an earlier very pleasant conversation. She looked Hispanic, but spoke with no accent, and she had signed  up for TrailSafe without hesitation. Somehow she made it known that she was born again, also that a friend would soon give her a computer.

Now I was greeted as a heroine. I whipped out my Tracfone (cheapest plan in the USA) and called Animal Control.

The dog was chained to a rock about 15 feet from us. He was a good-looking German Shepherd cross, big, about 65- 75 pounds, all tan, no typical Shepherd markings, well muscled.  I was in no hurry to approach him. Although he had accepted the hot dogs without incident,  he was still big, chained and unknown. I tried to stop her, but the girl ran at him, with a third hot dog. She lunged at him, as kids do, which caused the momentary cringe on his part. The aunt and I yelled against the live band in the background and the river noise to see if he had tags. “No” she told us, “no tags.”

I reported all this to Animal Control, an organization I have come to know and trust. They are not out to steal anybody’s dog and will do their utmost to contact the owners. A friendly, handsome beauty like this animal would be sent to Humane Society if not claimed; and Humane Society has a no-kill policy.

After calling Animal Control, I approached the dog after all, partially because I thought I did see tags on his collar and partially to restrain the child who wouldn’t leave him alone. In fact he did have two bone-shaped tags: one for rabies and one for ID with two phone numbers.

The first phone number was no longer in service. I left a message on the second, a cell number, explaining the dog would be at Animal Control.

Just then the owner appeared, a  handsome young man in kayaking gear. I have to mention he was black because it pertains to the story. Naturally, he wanted to know what was going on, and the girl was blurting out her case: that the dog was there for two hours, and that’s when he got mad, but not scary mad, just articulate end-of-my-rope but still a reasonable person mad. He spoke loudly, but not roaring anger, just firm anger. He told us he was gone 15 minutes, not two hours. He was instructing some kids in kayaking. He was, in fact, a rated (I do not understand the rating system) kayaker. He had been swimming and kayaking with the dog all afternoon.

And that’s when he said “Why is my karma like this today?” because some kids on the other side of the river had said something to him about a “nigger dog.”

Then this. I had to tell him Animal Control was coming. I told him as fast as I could that they wouldn’t give him any trouble and they wouldn’t take his dog away and they would be delighted the owner was there. But he was freaked by now. Not at me. He heard me and he got that I meant no harm. But the N-word plus Animal Control was all he could take for one day. Then the aunt started yelling at him from her rock, thinking he was yelling at me. She was defending me, not aware I didn’t need any defense.

“Don’t yell at her! We asked her to come over here. She only called because we asked her to. Don’t you be yelling at her!” She was yelling.

He told her he wasn’t yelling. That he and I were having a conversation and she should stay out of it. But she wouldn’t. She said he should be grateful we cared about his dog that was out there chained for two hours. He told her it wasn’t chained for two hours and to stay out of it.

He was a man who knew his limits and the situation was pushing him way beyond. He picked up his kayak and unchained his dog and left after he and I exchanged some quick words to make it clear we had no beef with each other. It’s possible he left before he started to cry; no proof of that, just my feeling about it.

So all our good intentions led us astray. I cancelled the call to Animal Control and I caught the aunt as she was leaving the fair. “I’m colored, too” she said, still defensive, but she was basically OK, the child is basically OK, I’m basically OK. It’s the kayaker who was deeply wounded. He did not deserve such a day.

I made it worse a few hours later, after I was home, by calling the cell number from the dog’s tag again. This time I got a young man. “Were you kayaking today and we had an incident with your dog? I just wanted to make things better.” By then I was fumbling for words, had lost all track of my thoughts.

“You mean my dad? How did you get this number?”

“From the dog’s collar.”

“The first number on the tag is his; the second one is mine. I’m not in town.”

“Do I have the right person? Does your dad kayak?”

“Yes, that’s him.”

Now I was beyond bewilderment. How could the kayaker, who looked to be in his 20’s, have an adult son? Too much muddle already. All our karma gone nuts, exploded into senseless fragments, spattered against the walls.

“I don’t mean to make it more complicated. Just tell him he can call this cell number if he wants to talk to me.”

I hope he does call. But he probably won’t.  All I can do is observe International Peace Day and pray his karma tomorrow is better.

Gateway to Silence

Our first stop in Nevada, back in 1973, was an abandoned stone hut near Austin on Lonely Route 50. I was traveling with a man henceforth to be known as The Felon; a buddy of his and the buddy’s girl friend; two horses; two dogs. I was grateful to stay behind and tend the horses in a big abandoned corral loosely fenced with sagging wire while the others went to explore a nearby canyon.

Sadly I had no camera, so this generic desert picture I took at another time in another place will have to tell the story. In fact, where I stood was tall grass, not desert scrub, and a gentle wind blew. I faced a round hill to the north and a peace descended after months and years of self-inflicted conflict and inner noise.

For the first time in memory, I heard not others ranting at me, not the chorus of inner compulsions, but silence. The only sound was the pulse of my own life beating in my ears. I could see the red of my circulation in my mind’s eye; the rest was mercifully quiet.

I rested in that space, standing still, and Nevada had me from then on.

That was a benchmark moment.

We forget and we get back to “normal”. Today it happened again. I was hiking the usual route with Sadie. It was 6:30 AM on a misty, overcast morning and already somebody was shooting what sounded like an arsenal of various weapons off to the northwest.

I can only figure approximately where these random shooters are and I have no idea in which direction they shoot. They are the bane of my walks and I fully expect to be found bullet-riddled one day, the dog poking me with her nose, the murderer anonymous, unsought by the law, and long gone.

Nevada condones this random gunfire, another of the many holdovers from a past when the range was emptier. But the lone frontiersman today exists only in the imagination of guys (it has to be guys although here and there a sellout woman will go along with them) who in fact are too lazy to go more than a mile from their homes and who open fire wherever they happen to be. I’ve seen them shooting toward roads, across roads, toward houses.

Law enforcement told me when I complained a few years ago that nobody can be shooting if they can see a house from where they are. That would certainly apply to this morning’s gunman, but you don’t educate these guys; you avoid them.

Two possibilities: many of these pistol-whippers are lawmen themselves out for a little practice or — Armageddon freaks getting ready for the big day.

What must be noted is the dedication to the firearm that gets a man out of bed at 6:30 in the morning on a Sunday to be shooting into the cloudy dawn. There were soft pops; there were bursts of what must have been automatic fire; there were long pauses followed by big bangs.

So I was irritated. And scared. Sadie was scared, clinging to my legs; new behavior for her — was Roger’s soul informing her?

Anyway we veered way south to get as far away as possible. The mist partially cleared and weak sunlight filtered through. It felt like a new dawn. And then there it was — the silence. The shooter was gone. There was no traffic. The only sounds were the blood pounding in my ears, Sadie’s skitterings on the sand, my own boots crunching pebbles. I stood still and there was absolute silence except the weak occasional peeping of some bird in a nearby juniper.

It was the same silence and it re-greeted me after 36 years. There has been a ton of meditation and revelation and bliss intervening. But this was a special, absolute silence. It would not have been much surprise if I got back to the neighborhood and found everybody gone and me the only witness, as in The Twilight Zone.

There was no fear, no bliss, no sadness, no joy, no noise. Just silence. I did not need to analyze, nor cling to the moment, nor escape the moment. The world remained as it has always been, and yet anything could have happened. It was the moment of Becoming, the closest we can approach to Now. I did not need a lama or a rabbi or a guru or a sensei. It may or may not ever happen again.

Hear me, Master Card, that is priceless. I wish it for all of you.

The Categories in this blog include Dogs, Environment and Spirituality. It’s hard to decide where various daily posts should go; these categories overlap.  However, after thought, today’s goes to Spirituality because it concerns a humbling and disturbing experience. Isn’t that typical of spiritual experience? My Lama calls him Mr. Karma and he has a wicked sense of humor.

Yesterday  I wrote a self-righteous diatribe, which I still believe in, Tragedy at the Trailhead condeming the heartless shooting and ghastly local display of the corpses of two coyotes. Pictures of this atrocity at: http://websighttrish.com/hikes/coyotes/deadcoyotes.htm

Today I let my dog kill a Wood Rat.

Wood Rat. Also known as Pack Rat. Actually a large mouse.

Yesterday I took pictures of the canid victims and posted them on my website Today I had a camera with me, but didn’t think to take a picture of the victim in whose death I was complicit. The pictures here were cribbed on the internet. The Wood Rat is a rodent a bit smaller than a squirrel, with a furry tail which makes it cute and appealing. It is also known as the Pack Rat and its busy nests are unmistakable. More detail at:http://encarta.msn.com/encyclopedia_762510589/wood_rat.html

Cuteness of the Wood Rat

Although I decry humans hunting, I have always allowed my dogs to hunt. “What else have they got?” I ask in defense. They don’t watch TV; they don’t make jewelry. They hunt. As far as they can tell, the reason we go marching almost every day is so they can hunt and I can irritate them by continually calling them while they hunt.They are driven by instinct to hunt and have no instinct at all to join the Humane Society. I have choices. Basically, they don’t.

Most days they don’t catch anything. But when they do, the prey is frequently the Wood Rat.

Ironically enough, I was sitting on a rock in the sunshine, repeating a mantra when it happened. Sadie was barking as she always does when she has a creature cornered. When I got tired of sitting on my rock, I came closer to investigate. She was digging under a little rock pile, and barking frantically, which is typical, and the  rodent, cornered under one of the rocks, was trilling desperately which is also typical. The thought flashed through my mind that I should drag the dog away. But I had no leash with me, my back was sore, and I knew all too well the game we’d go through. Sadie, seeming not to notice me, would sidle around the rock pile just fast enough to stay exasperatingly out of reach. I didn’t want to play that game. Besides, she often gives up and gratefully  trots off after me when she’s beyond exhaustion and frustration.  That way she keeps her self-image intact: “I would have caught it, but what can I do? Irritating Mom here made me give up. Don’t worry, I’ll be back. I know where you live.”

Without Roger to guard the back exit,  more often than not the mice (Wood Rat is a large mouse, not technically a rat) escape through their tunnel system and scuttle under nearby brush to chuckle while Sadie keeps digging at the vacated hole.

But today, just after I decided not to grab for her collar, she lunged almost faster than my eye could see, and the mouse was hers. Two fast, powerful shakes and it was all over. Sadie kills for sport, not food. She dropped the corpse and left the scene immediately. The female mouse lay on her back, intact except for a puncture wound immediately behind her right eye. She was mercifully already gone and out of pain. But did she leave behind a nest of offspring who will now starve?

I repeated the mantra a few times over the still little figure, then took off after Sadie. Maybe I look a little better to Mr. Karma because I did not intend nor directly cause this death. The coyote hunter still seems more malevolent to me. But is he? (And I’ll bet you it’s a he, not a she…) Maybe he really believes he’s protecting his children and pets from lethal coyote attack. Maybe he imagines he’s helping deer herds survive as local coyote killers claim.Is my motivation: a combination of laziness and indulgence of my dog, any better?

If I had dragged Sadie when I felt the impulse, maybe the world would register one more wood rat, probably a mother wood rat at that. There was no escaping it. I was on Mr. Karma’s meat hook.

To console myself, I painted the scene from Sadie’s point of view.

“Good day today,” she writes in her doggie diary,”I finally got a wood rat. Mom actually gave me enough time to do the job right. I’m a hell of a dog, yes I am.”

Tomorrow Mom brings along a leash.

Three Arches National Monument, Oregon

“You ask of my companions. Hills, sir, and the sundown, and a dog as large as myself.”
- Emily Dickinson

A 7-year relationship broke up in 1995. I had let it go on too long anyway. Ironically, although I had complained constantly about this man, I came to a realization of acceptance while alone on a trip to the Oregon coast in April, 1995. The beach was shrouded in fine mist. The air was soft, the offshore rocks drifting in and out of view as in a dream. Reverence,  awe and lightness flooded me as I walked, working into my system as the gentle rain worked into my cheeks. Why did I persist in harassing this man because he didn’t earn a consistent living? It was my stern, judgmental, and, incidentally, dead Army officer father talking through me. If I was to enter a relationship with my whole heart, it was my responsibility. I must throw off dysfunctional concepts, and accept this man entirely as he was. I must be grateful for his presence in my life and, if need be, shoulder the finances entirely, just as men have done throughout history for their women. It was destructive to balk at this role reversal, and so far he had paid his share of expenses, though it took all he had.

Peace washed over me; the months of inner conflict evaporated, replaced by certainty, lightness and freedom.

A few days later, I arrived home in Reno to discover him, bags already packed and all his possessions moved, on his way out to an apartment his new girl friend found for him. Adding insult to injury, she was, so I had thought, a long-time friend.

Karma had done its dirty work and I lost what I didn’t appreciate just when I decided to appreciate it. Although I had many times wished him gone, sick of his rages and his despair — I had even buried prayer squares in the desert, planting this wish — which is a ritual you should never try unless you want the results because you will get the results — when I was faced with the moment I was dizzy with shock,  whirling and sinking faster and faster in a powerful vortex devoid of thought or control.

I sustained this loss, not without rage and grief, but it still didn’t occur to me to be alone. So I got a new partner, this time a long-distance relationship with a Yogi. It was delightful in many ways, but karma intervened again,after two years of roller coaster emotions, and it was over.

Alone in my car, in 1997 I cried out for refuge. I had already taken refuge vows several times. Each time it was happenstance, not a planned or studied event. Nevertheless, they were legitimate refuge vows, probably the result of my karma. Until that moment I had thought the First Noble Truth, that life is suffering, was  dour and depressing. Now I embraced it. I chanted alone, waiting at the stoplight; I chanted for refuge in the Buddha, the Dharma and the Sangha. It was  like a drunk hitting bottom and calling out for AA.

Surprisingly enough, Ms. Karma smiled on this turn of events. Peace flooded me as it had in Oregon two years ago. Just like an AA recovery tale, it’s been all uphill since that day in 1997.

Today I live a life that might sound like renunciation, but it is not. It is bliss. I was told long ago that when the storm is over, the lotus will open. I live alone and celibate. I spend much of my time in solitude, walking with my dog in the silent desert. Karma has sent me enough money to be comfortable: house and cars paid for, a modest but sufficient retirement income, family in different cities: pleasant relationships, but not affecting my daily life.

My life has long fit Lama Marut’s description of the yogic lifestyle. I go to sleep and wake up with the sun; have never used an alarm clock anyway. My brain can be set if need be. If I have to catch an early plane, which is the only reason I will interfere with my biorhythms, I set it before I go to sleep. I don’t leap to answer the phone; voice mail does an excellent job, and I try not to speak to anybody unless I’m fully ready to receive them.

I am on  perpetual retreat, limiting appointments and events so there is never a rush.

The world around me is more marvelous every day.

So many people I encounter are frantic. How many phone conversations begin with “It’s so crazy right now.” A pitfall for me would be smugness. I counter that tendency with gratitude. Another danger is selfishness. I feel more strongly every day that to keep what I have, I must give it away.

I am by nature and great good fortune what could be called a renunciate, being an only child and a bookworm. Nature has always been my refuge. Growing up, we had a summer home on a lake in New York State, with 160 acres to roam. When the summer campers left in late August, my happy time began: visiting the turtles, the fish, the eels, the muskrats, the deer, the skunks, feral dogs, a pet raccoon.

Even when I worked it was not crazy. In fact, we had Fridays off for years.

I spent those free Fridays lurking in the brush or scrambling up the hills, almost always alone, with only dogs for company. The works of man, are by necessity  my heritage, instructors, and inspiration, because I am human. They reside within me, but it is nature that puts me over the top. Even in India, some of my greatest bliss was alone on the hillside trails above MacLeond Ganj, watching monkey tribes.

Lama Marut says good works, such as giving to the poor, are good for one’s karma. But he says better yet to meditate upon one’s own awakening. I still have  doubts about this. Am I doing enough to help the suffering in this world?

But I cannot deny the results of year after year of a renunciate life. The edges have softened. I am more capable of consistent kindness because I am fortified by my long periods of retreat, therefore able to give with more of a whole heart when it is time to give. This constantly surprises me. Such an outcome is well expressed in Chapter Six of the Big Book of AA: “Into Action”.

We will lose interest in selfish things and gain interest in our fellows. Self-seeking will slip away. Our whole attitude and outlook upon life will change. Fear of people and of economic insecurity will leave us. We will intuitively know how to handle situations which used to baffle us. We will suddenly realize that God is doing for us what we could not do for ourselves.

Inspired by a locally produced TV documentary called “Living in the Big Empty” which appeared on local PBS channel KNPB, I write about my great good fortune, to have the desert as my teacher. May I never take it for granted.  Most people wouldn’t want it anyway. They think it’s harsh. They think it’s empty.

 Desert Miracles:

Desert: the Ultimate Teacher

• That the desert immediately embraced and soothed me.
• That I can walk all day and seldom see anyone.
• That some people have walked in Nevada mountains for a year without seeing anyone.
• That we learn to delight in what is here.
• Silence.

The documentary introduced some desert eccentrics. Of course Burning Man is a chance for thousands to be desert eccentrics, if only for a weekend.  I’m a full-time undercover desert eccentric. The sagebrush and jackrabbits have so thoroughly permeated my soul that I carry them always, everywhere.

Arch to Nowhere: Or Everywhere if You Love the Desert

Here is Goldfield, Nevada in March 2005. We have a confluence of ghost town, Burning Man obsessive compulsive disorder, and your standard desert decay, along with everyday living. I was lucky enough to be alone coming home from Death Valley, to have two cameras, to have all the time in the world, to have good light. What more would constitute a miracle? Oddly these pictures have sat around for four years; I just realized how priceless they are. Oddly, I did not see a living soul during my approximately three hours in Goldfield. Picture essay at link below.

 http://websighttrish.com/goldfield/Goldfield.htm for entire picture essay.

I think this is a swanprint

Basically I’m too lucky. I do some whining and moaning on these pages, but none of it is about my personal life or my place in this world. I  agonize and protest injustice and cruelty. That’s a big step up for me because I used to be consumed with self-concern and emotion. Since 1997, I’ve been focused on matters outside myself.

But I can also say that’s because I’m phenomenally lucky.

It’s late, so I’ll just give one example right now. There was abundant sun and a lazy day to spend as I chose, so I went to the lake with Sadie and the tundra swans were back, many with older cygnets: juveniles smaller than the parents, already long-necked and graceful, just the necks, and on some the necks and backs, still bearing the stubby gray juvenile plumage, the remainder now white and sleek, the exquisite black mask coming into focus on some; not yet for others. What animal name comes close to “cygnet.”  What expresses more of distance, power, endurance and freedom than “tundra swan.” This is natural royalty.

As I watched, three swans took to the sky, huge wings beating ceaselessly, no coasting for these great birds, banking aided by updrafts until they were headed east, three bodies forming a single slice of white against the looming red mountains. I heard their call, higher and thinner than the Canada goose, the scream of absolute freedom. This is how lucky I am, I have witnessed this in my lifetime.

Here’s a link to the sound:

http://animals.nationalgeographic.com/animals/birds/tundra-swan.html

Audience with His Holiness, the XIV Dalai Lama. Yours truly to his left, holding his hand. He has a firm clasp. Taken January, 2000 in Bodhgaya, India.

Atlanta, GA, USA, 22 October 2007 - By Salvador Rizzo, The Emory Wheel - Thick, looming fog and the threat of rain couldn’t keep thousands of people from attending the Dalai Lama’s free public address ar Centennial Olympic Park…  

Here are some of his words transcribed verbatim:

“According to my own little experience, what I learned, when we have difficulties, most reliable friend is our own inner feelings,” he said.  “Peaceful society must come from genuine inner peace.”

Reducing anger and jealousy on an individual level - what he termed ‘inner disarmament’ leads to ‘external disarmament’ on a wider level, he said.

“Last century, millions of people killed - not much benefit,” he said.  “The concept of war is outdated, it’s very clear.  This century, 21st century, should be century of dialogue.”

He posited that humans, unlike some other species such as turtles, naturally tend toward compassion, and he encouraged the audience to nurture their children and take to heart the lessons gleaned from family life.

“The seed of compassion, from birth, we already have. Very nature, we come from our mother - our entire life depends on others’ care,” he said, adding that his affection for all people comes not from Buddhism, but from his own mother.

“My mother was very warm-hearted.  Never angry,” he said.  “My compassion, I learned from her.”

And this instruction for children, he said, should also take place in classrooms. “I raise question whether modern education system effective,” he said.  “Adequate at brain development, not adequate at developing warm-heartedness.”

“Please give your children maximum affection, maximum care,” he advised the audience, adding, playfully, “Of course, I am monk so I have no responsibility.”