If I was (??) psychic, (??) in touch with my intuition, (??) able to meditate, (??). My life might be easier. I might receive the message — I might actually know what the message is. Instead I wander around, sometimes slopping through mud, trying to figure it out. I get hit on the head ALOT.
At least 10 years ago, my husband and I were in Florida for Ash Wednesday. The priest reflect in his homily that Lent was the time to clear the internal pipes. I will admit that I did a lot of pipe work that year. Since then, instead of giving something material up for Lent, I have tried to work on my spirituality. This year I picked up Dr. Wayne Dwyer’s memoir “I Can See Clearly Now.” In it he reflects on the lessons he received from his early experiences. Since my life has had challenges of its own, I can relate to his stories. Sometimes my recollections catch me off guard — bringing up stuff that is still painful.
That isn’t exactly what this thought ramble is about. Yesterday my husband and I left our dog, Robin, at home while we went shopping. Our son was upstairs in his office working, with the entrance fenced off so she couldn’t pester him. She sat at the gate and cried. She didn’t want to be alone. She must have thought that the least he could do was to let her in with him or come out to play with her.
I want to declare that I’M NOT A DOG WHISPER! I have no real knowledge of what she is thinking although I can often make a pretty good guess. Robin was rescued from a shelter when she was about a year old. We DO NOT KNOW her history. From her dietary preferences, we wonder if she wasn’t abandoned, left to scrounge for food on the street. Or did she see something that needed to be chased and lost her way. We have no way of knowing what affected her earlier life. We know she doesn’t like to be outside by herself, will only eat her food if someone is in the kitchen with her, and is skittish — afraid of loud noises.
When our children were small we had an Irish Setter named Rusty. He had been in many homes before he joined ours. He was a very good dog in some cases, but a terror in others. He would take possession of an article — sock, shoe or garbage bag — and dare you to take it away. Our friend Muscles was able to make him obey, so was my husband. My husband knocked him out when he was fighting with another of our dogs. In time I was able to take the treasured item away by using a chair like a lion tamer. Rusty had been in too many different homes and allowed to get away with bad behavior when he was a puppy. He was lucky that we were understanding and put up with his issues until old age took him home.
Human’s are affected by their early childhood. Are dogs, cats and other animals similarly affected? I wonder …..