Just Jump

My dog  killed my neighbors chickens. Not her fault. She was provoked by her pack. Living off the same remote driveway,  a major fault line opened between me and them. The wife associates her chickens with her father who died too soon. Her chicken yard is a run-down mess, and her chickens have been killed 3 timers by various predators in the last two years. But never mind. My dog killed her chickens. The anxiety, shame, rage, disaster this created was monumental. Her husband, who was in the process of dying and thought himself such a nice, compassionate guy, shouted “If I had a gun, I would shoot your dog and you!”  His wife used the word “murder.”

For almost a year I tried to find a way for me, the dog, and the neighbors to co-exist. I offered to help repair the coop. They refused. They put in a couple of rusty pieces of wire and some more rotted wood and told me it was fixed. 

From being free to loll around the deck, she had to be constantly on leash. And she hated it. She pulled me around like a rag doll for months. She never, ever got it. After months of stress, I finally spoke to an intuitive dog trainer who told me the truth: that training the dog not to go after the chickens would not be possible and that others might say they could train her to “come” in open country, but they’d be lying.  

The dog and I came to an understanding. That we would find her a new home:  That she is a ranch dog. A dog with so much energy she needs wide open spaces and at least one doggie companion. I was happy to know that, but cried a lot at the thought of letting her go.

I put an announcement in the Taos News that she wanted a new home. Months went by. No response. I was patient. I told her she was going to live free. She loved me for it and was patient also. After months, an email came from a woman who said she wanted my dog. When she spoke , she was so certain this was her dog, I didn’t trust her. I wondered how she could be so sure?  And when I asked, she said: “The universe has shown me the way. I just got a divorce, moved to a 33 acre ranch, got a couple of horses and since the divorce everything has been in sync. It’s worked so far. Why not now? Want to meet at the Rio Grande Gorge Bridge on Tuesday?“

To all my questions, she answered with relaxed humor, I said, “Caly is pretty Alpha” and she said that was good cause “her dog was a wuss.” I said Caly always chased rabbits and she said her dog started after them but turned around and looked her as if so say: “do I have to?.” She’d be happy to have Caly teach him to be more adventurous.

There it was: Caly’s dream come true. And mine.

We did meet in the magnificent setting of the Gorge Bridge floating 800 feet above the Rio Grande. In the parking lot, Caly ran up to her, sat in front of her and looked her in the eyes. She jumped into her car and never looked back.  This parting, this terrible, heartrending thing I was about to do suddenly became a bright, benevolent sunset. When Caly looked at me, the pain vanished in a moment of closure so full of joy and celebration that instead of tears, all I could do was laugh and sing on the deserted road home.

So many things that seem tragic, catastrophic, the end-of-the-world at the time turn out to be windows on new opportunities and change. Of course, it’s hard to celebrate change. It’s uncomfortable, painful, confusing, warped. It’s also a time when you can jump timelines. I mean a window opens and by staying present for whatever arises and without taking any steps whatsoever, things fall away, they empty, and you’re forever changed. A door opens and you just jump.