THERE IS A STORY

IN THAT MULBERRY TREE

AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF RECIPROCITY

Vivienne Elanta

Although I grew up in Africa, I never saw a live elephant, antelope, zebra, lion or giraffe. Appreciation for the natural world was never fostered in our family. I did not grow up with any “pets” when I was very young, though I do remember a monkey, which my parents kept attached to a chain on our verandah. He used to screech and frantically pull on his chain. During my teenage years a stray female dog found refuge with us. She gave birth to several litters, and in no time at all we had thirteen dogs. My parents grew up in Germany during the Nazi regime, which did not teach people to respect life. We children were abused, and so were the dogs. A week before our family migrated to Australia, our dogs were disposed of in the dog pound. I used to have nightmares about how much they were neglected and how quickly they were jettisoned.

Only many years later, when I was pregnant with my daughter Lana, did I begin the healing journey of connecting through my own body to the natural world around me. When Lana was six years old we brought home several little bantam hens and a rooster, which was the beginning of offering refuge to many homeless beings, such as our two wonderful cats.

Although I have enjoyed several, special relationships with earth others, I am going to focus on one in particular. As I write these words, a light breeze is gently rustling through the Mulberry tree, caressing its shiny, light green leaves. There is a story in that tree. It is a story of an extraordinary little Jack Russell dog, an extraordinary bundle of energy, inside a shorthaired, white coat with brown spots. He has absolutely changed the way I relate to earth others. This is how it happened.

One day our daughter Lana, then 12 years old brought him home. She found him sitting on a busy main road, shaking with fear. Living in a rental home, we were not allowed to keep a dog. So I said to her: “No dogs!” Turning up her bottom lip, she said: “ Oh mum? This poor dog has no home.” I firmly stood my ground and insisted that he must have a home somewhere out there, and maybe people were looking for him. After Lana phoned the local dog pound and the vet, she embarked on asking people in the local neighbourhood for any clues, while the dog was sitting very quietly on the back-step. As I observed him through the kitchen window, I began to develop an uneasy feeling. These two have made a reciprocal pact. They had a plan. I could smell it.

As expected Lana had no success, so we decided to give him a wash as he was covered in fleas. We had no choice but to keep him for the night. As I was preparing the evening meal I noticed the little four-legged standing next to me and just looking up. As soon as our eyes met, he wagged his stump, a reminder of a gruesome practice of tail lopping usually performed on this breed. At first the wagging was cautious, a little hesitant, almost questioning. His searching eyes were checking me out, reading my body, maybe even my thoughts and feelings. The more his eyes hung onto mine, the more his little body tensed up, waiting for a response. He looked just so cute. I reached down and patted him on the head, which flipped his tail into a wild and excited spin. I continued cooking and almost forgot about him, until I went into the lounge room to let John know that dinner was ready, when I found to my surprise he was lying on John’s lap and busily working away at winning him over too.

We did find out where he lived, except that the people had moved away, and left him behind. So we named him Spotty and welcomed him into our family. Our two cats had opposite feelings about this new addition to the home. Whiskle rubbed her body against him and purred, and he in turn greeted her by eagerly licking her face. Huckleberry on the other hand utterly disliked him right from the start, which she demonstrated by striking out and scratching his nose and hissing at him.

Lana and Spot were good mates. He used to sleep not on her bed, but in her bed, right between the sheets. One morning I saw them both still asleep, Spotty’s whole body under the blanket, only his little tail sticking out, which was pressed against Lana’s cheek. Four times a year we would have a visit from the real estate agent, who would conduct a house inspection. So half an hour before the agent arrived, we would send Lana for a long, long walk with Spotty. We managed to keep this little secret for more than a year until we moved into our own place.

Spotty lived boldly and fearlessly. One day while in the front garden a large beam fell onto his head, knocking him unconscious. He looked dead. I took him to the veterinary clinic immediately where he stayed in intensive care over night. The vet was not sure wether Spotty would survive the night. I phoned every friend who practiced Reiki, asking them to send Spotty lots of healing. The next morning I picked him up, the vet commenting that it was a miracle that is was alive.

Then when Lana moved from home and could not take Spot with her, I took on the job of caring for him. Spot loved taking me to the park. He demanded these daily rituals every morning and evening, always on his terms. He determined the pace, which was usually hurried and only interrupted with the lifting of a leg against every tree along the way. Arriving at the park was for both of us a special time. Spot was overexcited to see his doggy friends, and I always enjoyed watching Spotty enjoy his world. While the dogs were socialising, running and tumbling and sniffing each other, the humans also walked and talked. Every human knew the name of every regular visiting dog, but rarely knew each other’s names.

Spotty loved fetching balls and if we forgot to take the ball with us, he would find a stick for me to throw. I became very interested in the way he would follow a trail of scent with such intensity and attention. His nose would search over the ground at varying speed. It looked to me like he was deeply engrossed in reading the daily news. It was evident to me that he was processing vast amounts of information. I wished that I could read his mind. What did he do with all this data? Remembering the smells of another dog from today and meeting this dog the next day, would he say, “ Pleased to meet you! Its great to put a face to your smell”. If only I knew? I knew though that he had a rich life and I felt privileged to be a part of his busy daily routine.

Spotty taught us from the start that he could not be owned. Derek Jensen, author of “A Language Older Than Words” points out, that the belief about “ownership” gets in the way of authentic communication between humans and earth others as inter-subjective equals. Whenever I neglected to take Spot for a walk, he would bite holes into our bedding, and when scolded he would growl, showing his teeth. I quickly learned from him that he was a being in his own right and deserved respect. As long as he was not neglected, our bedding was safe.

Whenever the phone rang he would watch me and if I did not attend to the phone immediately he would howl until the ringing either stopped or until I answered it. A major dislike was being bathed. Those were the times our wills clashed, ending in a battle I always won. Afterwards he would run around the house in a frisky mood, rolling around on the floor and begging to play balls with me.

Then things changed when I became ill. I was diagnosed with an auto-immune disease, which left me chronically fatigued and in constant pain. As I became weaker, and spent more and more time in bed, our walks to the park became more infrequent. I would sleep away the days, with Spotty by my side, his little head resting on his paws and occasionally letting out a big sigh. His persistence was so inspiring, because he fully enrolled John in taking him on his rounds to mark his territory.

One day, while dragging myself out of bed to prepare myself some breakfast, Spotty insisted that I take him to the park. He pulled his lead from the top of the telephone table and dropped it in front of me, wagged his tail and sat down, and looked at me with his round black eyes, while slightly tilting his head. If I did not respond, he would pick it up again and drop it repeatedly in front of my feet until I took notice. How could I resist such an invitation, after all I too missed our walks. So we walked to the park, but now at my pace. I am grateful to Spot for insisting on these walks, for he helped me to hang in and fight for my own survival. As my depressions lifted and my health recovered over the months to come, our regular walks became longer.

One afternoon we arrived at the park as usual, when suddenly a male Rotweiler charged towards Spotty and stood over him. Jack Russells are known for their courage and tend not to back down to any threats. Spotty warned the dog to back off. Instead the dog attacked him and dug his teeth into Spot. I ran towards the savage Rotweiler, grabbed him by the chain around his neck and pulled him off our dog. As soon as I achieved this mammoth task, the dog charged forward again, dragging me along, and once again dug his teeth into Spot and proceeded to shake him, in what looked like a killing frenzy. In that moment I knew that Spotty’s life could be over in a flash, so with all my strength I pulled the dog off Spot once again. Again he lost his hold on Spot. I dashed forward and in a flash grabbed my little friend and lifted him into my arms. He was in severe shock and so were several human onlookers, who never came to my aid.

I rushed him to the vet, where he underwent a major operation and spent several days in intensive care. He survived massive injuries to his neck and right shoulder, which had almost killed him. When I brought him home, I placed him in his bed, which always stood in the main living area of the house during the day and at night he would sleep next to my bed. During the weeks to follow I had to clean several drainage tubes, which were sticking out from his wounds. Whenever he stirred or groaned at night I would reach down and stroke his head until he settled down again. Spotty slowly recovered, but never regained his former strength.

On the way home from our rounds in the park he now had difficulties walking up the steep hill, so I would carrying him home in my arms. Some months later we rushed him once again to the vet, because his body was swelling up. He was diagnosed with a heart tumour, an aggressive cancer, which only gave him days or at most a couple of weeks to live. Taking in turned, we nursed him day and night.

Spotty was never allowed to go into the library because it was a carpeted space, but during his last days we placed a double bed mattress on the floor. Spot was over the moon to be allowed into this forbidden place. He would lie in the middle of the mattress like a lion king. We could see that he was uncomfortable with his very swollen abdomen and his swollen heart, so every second day we took him to the vet to have some fluids removed so that he had a little respite. Eventually that was no longer an option any more, because while removing fluids a lot of protein was lost also.

We knew that time was running out. The last three days we slept on the mattress with him. He seemed content lying between John and myself. We stroked his very bloated body and sat with him most of the time, which he loved, returning his love for us by licking our hands. I felt a deepening bond with this brave little being.

Then the dreaded day came when we called the vet to our house to give Spotty a lethal injection to bring an end to his suffering. I will never forget that moment in my whole life. Julian the vet, John and myself sat in a triangle on the floor, with Spotty in the centre. I appreciated Julian’s patience and his deep love for dogs. We shared stories about Spotty. The story I told, which Julian liked the most was an incident, which occurred on one of our regular walks in the park. We heard a woman yell at her dog. She was trying to stop him from lifting his leg on something on the grass. Spotty, not wanting to miss out ran across to the scene and promptly lifted his leg on whatever it was. When I finally caught up, I was horrified, because Spotty had emptied his entire bladder content onto a lonely mobile phone lying on the ground next to other belongings. I felt so embarrassed and did not know what to do. With so many people gathered for a sports carnival it was impossible to locate the owner, so I decided to keep walking, telling myself that I did not see what had occurred.

Our laughter soon gave way to the reality that the moment we dreaded was here. I said to Julian that I was not sure if this was really the moment and maybe we should wait another day or two. Julian assured us that it is never the right moment. If we would go ahead now we will feel bad that we deprived him of more hours and maybe days of life, and if we would wait, Spot would die a most terrible death, through a massive, very painful heart attack.

Spotty sat in front of Julian waiting for him to throw a gumnut, so he could retrieve it. Julian threw it and Spotty laboured to fetch it and placed it in front of Julian. Spotty sat still, when the green fluid slowly entering his bloodstream. He could feel something happening to him, because he turned to John and leaned across to him, the plea in his eyes begging for protection. He always went to John for protection, but now there was no help. It was too late. He collapsed and his last breath left him and soon the heart stopped too. I hated that moment. I wanted him back. I wanted to turn the clock back, for I wanted this to end differently. I still don’t know that we had the right to send him to his death in that way, or so soon.

The suddenness of the shift from such aliveness to this deadness lying on the ground was so immediate and shocking. We all three put our arms around each other and we wept and wept. After Julian left, we sat next to Spot and continued to wail for a long time. Then at sunset John and myself dug a hole in the garden, into which we placed him, wrapped in his favourite blanket. Next to his head we placed his bone and covered him with handfuls of white rose petals. We planted a Mulberry tree right next to him. Saying farewell to our little friend was so very painful.

That night I did not sleep well, so I went into the living room. Huckleberry and Whiskel were lying curled up on a rug. I sat myself next to them and stroked their silky fur, which made me burst out crying again. I wept and wept, lying curled up on the floor. Both cats came close and rubbed their bodies against me and licked my face. There was no doubt that they were in their own way trying to console me.

I was so deeply involved in my own grief, so much so, that it did not even occur to me that they might be grieving too. How could we forget to let them see Spotty before we buried him? How could we forget not to include them in the burial ritual? I felt sorry and so ashamed for being so self-centred. I remember seeing them sit at the door motionless for several hours the day after, which had the feeling of a wake.

What astounded both John and myself is that not long after Spot’s death, Huckleberry displayed a whole range of new habits and behaviours, which were so typical of Spot. She started lying on John’s lap in the evenings, while he was watching Television. The way she would place her head on her front paws or turn them inwards was almost identical to the way Spot used to lie. She was no longer displaced by the dog and seemed more relaxed.

Right from that first evening when he systematically wormed his way into our hearts, I knew that this was a special earth other. I grew to love him so much during the nine years he lived with us. He taught me about unconditional love, innocence, playfulness, loyalty and being in the moment. When most of my human friends were too busy to support me during those long, difficult months of illness, Spotty was always by my side. His love was unconditional. I finally understood the term, “a man’s best friend”. Spotty may have been Lana’s dog, but he was my best four-legged friend.

Today, a year and a day later John and myself are standing in front of the Mulberry tree and remembering our little four-legged friend. The tree has doubled in seize, its roots now intimately entwined with the bones of Spotty. John had a dream the night before in which Spotty came to him and covered him with countless doggy slobbers and kisses. I reached out to the tree and covered its leaves with countless kisses to let him know how much I feel his presence. I know that our love was reciprocal and he will live on in our hearts, and will also live on in this beautiful Mulberry tree.

In writing this autobiography in reciprocity I have had an important insight.

My parents never showed me how to love and respect earth others, because they did not know how to, but my daughter Lana, who climbed trees and played with bantam hens and brought home every stray cat and dog she encountered, showed me the way. It was for her and because of her, that I first became an advocate for the wellbeing of all earth others. Through my parents ignorance I lost my connection to my earth community and through the innocence of my child I found it again.

Blessings to Spotty for the gift of unconditional love and immense joy he brought into our lives. And blessings to all dogs, for the world would not be the same without them.

The works consulted below have enriched and deepened my appreciation in preparing this autobiography in reciprocity.

Sheldrake, Rupert (1999) Dogs that know when their Owners are Coming Home, Arrow Books, London

Noske, Barbara (1997) Beyond Boundaries: Humans and Animals, Black Rose Books, Canada

Shepard, Paul (1996) The Others: How Animals Made Us Human, Island Press,Washington, D.C.

Jensen, Derrick (2000) A Language Older Than Words, Souvenir Press, London

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