In 1995, two dogs appeared at my cabin near Hinckley, MN. They were a border collie mix, about a year old, and enchanting with their joy, intelligence and joie de vivre. I noticed they were hanging out at my neighbors, and assumed they had gotten some new dogs. After a week of doggie visits, I dropped by my neighbor's house to compliment her on her dogs. She was busy cutting their hair, and when I said how great they were, she replied, "yes, it's too back they're going to the pound tomorrow". "What?" I exclaimed. "We can't keep them", she told me, "we already have a dog and 11 cats". (People used to dump their animals off in our little neighborhood in the woods, which is why she had 11 cats). I was so upset - how could these dogs to to the pound? So I took the dogs back to my boyfriend, who owned the cabin next door to me, and convinced him that he should adopt these two dogs and co-own them with me. We lived a block apart in the city, and had next door cabins. It was a perfect arrangement.

I remember exactly the day I realized what this relationship was going to do to me. It was about a year later. I was taking a shower, and thinking about how much they made me laugh, and I suddenly realized that they would die someday and I would lose them. My knees buckled and I fell to the floor, sobbing. I had an overwhelming realization that loving something carries heartbreak, and that heartbreak IS a part of love. You can't escape it. At that point, I said yes to love, and my time as a student of DOG/GOD began.

These dogs were, in my opinion, Ambassadors of the Heart. They taught me so many things about love. I used to introduce them as "queens from another planet, here to teach me about love." There is one story in particular that I would like to share with you about Thelma and her marvelous lessons.

I'm not sure how long the dogs had been with us when this happened - I think it must have been five years. I was going through a very difficult period of my life. I was smoking a lot, carrying an extra 30 pounds, not very active, and quite unhappy. I felt that my long-term relationship was almost over, and my love affair with the film industry was over, so I didn’t have much to feel passionate about.

These dogs were abandoned by their owners and living off the land when we found them (well actually, they found us. They decided they wanted to live with us and we were smart enough to agree with them). I was never able to break them of the habit of killing prey – no matter how well fed they were, they had spent enough of their life hunting to survive that it was part of who they were. Most of the time I could live with it – while I didn’t enjoy seeing them come home with a rabbit in their mouth (or worse, the neighbor’s rooster!) I understood their nature and simply did what I could to honor the deaths.

That spring day, I was out taking the dogs for our lunchtime walk. It was a beautiful day, and I was feeling a faint optimism that I might find a solution to the things troubling me. As we walked, the dogs disappeared. Now, that was typical – they often slipped into the woods to chase something. They always reappeared within minutes though – I think being abandoned once made them hyper vigilant about keeping close to me. They were gone for quite a while this time. As I was walking, I noticed something in the middle of the road far ahead of me – about a quarter of a mile – and it was moving. I was unable to see what it was, but the movement of it was unusual enough that I stopped and watched it intently, trying to understand what I was seeing. It looked like a mirage; fuzzy and wavering, and it was getting closer to me without resolving into anything familiar. I remember thinking “it’s Coyote, the trickster – something is going to happen, so pay attention”. Closer it came, still hazy and wavering, until literally 10 feet in front of me it condensed into a fawn. A fawn that was looking me in the eye and wagging it’s little tail and came right up to me as though we were old friends.

My heart just melted. I knelt down, and this miracle of nature snuggled into my arms. I had never felt anything so soft – that fawn was softer than a rabbit. It wiggled and teased, with laughter in its eyes, and we were both caught up in an exchange of loving admiration. I had never been close to a fawn before. It literally took my breath away.
I stood up. At that moment Thelma came racing down the road. Now, here was the second peculiar thing of that day – those dogs were never apart for more than a few minutes. Yet during the next fifteen minutes, Louise was nowhere to be found. By itself that might not seem strange, but as I thought about this day over and over, I recognized that I was part of a bigger story. Thelma came racing down the road and the fawn took off running. I saw immediately what was going to happen and I just couldn’t bear it. I screamed at the dog and ran after her, but here’s where so much grief began. My body couldn't do what needed to be done. I was too heavy, too out of shape, too out of my body to catch the dog. I was sobbing and screaming as I ran after them, and I finally caught up with them before any damage was done. I tackled Thelma and rolled into the ditch with her, and the fawn got up and ran off. We lay there in the ditch, her and I, and I was crying and howling, and she was poised under my hands to bolt the moment I let her up. I could see the blood lust in her eyes – no consciousness left, just pure instinct.

I waited a few minutes to give the fawn time to disappear, then let Thelma up. She swarmed up that bank and was gone in a flash, and as I climbed up, my heart broke to see the fawn standing in the middle of the road, watching us, waiting. As soon as it saw me, it turned and began to trot down the road, Thelma in hot pursuit. “Why didn't you run” I was screaming as I began my second futile chase after them, but I knew this time there would be no reprieve. I saw them both head into the woods, then heard the sound of the fawn's scream. I was choking on my grief, and my anger at myself for being unable to prevent it, and my heart broke into a million pieces.

During the entire time Thelma and I were playing this out with the fawn, Louise was nowhere to be seen. As I said before, this was unusual enough that I had to pay attention. As I dragged my sorry ass towards the woods to see if there was any chance of saving the fawn, Thelma appeared, waiting for me. She had blood on her tongue, and I knew I was too late. I searched and searched, but could not find the fawn anywhere, and Thelma, instead of rushing back to eat it (her normal pattern) stayed with me the entire time I searched. I was sobbing so hard snot was running down my chin, and I kept crying to her “Where is it? Where is it?” She just stayed with me, turning those intelligent and compassionate eyes to look into the woods, then look at me.

After 15 minutes or so of searching, I admitted defeat and began the long walk home. This is when Louise reappeared, and she stayed well away from Thelma and I. Thelma stuck by me like a burr. She kept glancing at me with such distress in her eyes, but I was consumed by my feelings - anger and shame, grief and despair, rage and hopelessness. I was so angry at myself for being fat and tired and unable to participate in life when it really mattered. We returned to the cabin, and I called my partner. As I was sobbing over the phone, he grew angry and told me to tie the dog up. That shocked me out of my grief momentarily – this dog who we had always treated as an intelligent and respected friend – and now he was telling me to tie her up? (I now know that it was his way of trying to deal with the grief he was feeling, but he was also giving me an option of what story I was working with - if it was a story of "just a dog", then I could be mad at her and tie her up. If it was something else, I had some work to do). I hung up the phone and cried some more, and journaled about my despair. My stomach was in knots, and try as I might, I could not shift my emotional energy. After 2 hours I knew the story was not finished. I went to the shed and got a rope, called Thelma to me, and tied it to her collar. “We’re going to find the fawn” I told her, “and I need you to show me where it is”. She understood what I wanted and very quietly and with great dignity led me to the place they had run into the woods. Now, as we left the cabin, Louise again disappeared, and she did not return until the story was over. I tell you this so that you might see, as I did later, that this was a sacred story unfolding.

As Thelma stood quietly by the side of the road, I asked her several times to show me where the fawn was, but she just stood there and looked at me. I understood I needed to find it myself, and I walked twenty feet into the woods directly to the fawn. It was laying there dead, eyes wide open, but there was no mark on its body except for the tiniest little hole in its belly, leaking blood. A hole the size of a tooth. I looked at the body, fresh sobs wracking me, and wondered how a hole that small could kill an animal of that size. But dead it was, and I knew I had work to do. I gathered that soft body into my arms and, sobbing all the way, carried it home, Thelma at my side. She stayed close to me while I laid it in the garden. I told her “we must bury it with honor”, and while I went to the shed for a shovel, she licked that little deer from top to bottom with great deliberation, love and attention, cleaning the blood and dirt from it. I dug a hole in the yard that I would be able to see from inside the cabin, and then went indoors for fabric and tobacco. I chose a piece of the northwoods fabric that I used for so many things in the cabin - drapes, couch and pillow covers, tablecloths - because it felt right – there was a connection between that deer and my holy land.

I returned to the fawn, Thelma standing guard at its side, and wrapped it in the fabric. I laid it in the ground, then, sprinkling tobacco as I went, I called in the four directions. I wept as I tried to say what the experience had done for me, and Thelma turned in each direction along with me, ears alert and head held high. She knew she was playing a part in a sacred drama, and she took her part seriously. As I began to shovel dirt over the deer, soaking the ground with my tears, she turned and threw dirt over the top with her hind legs. This was not “just a dog”. This was a being tuned into the mysteries of life, and a mentor.
When the burial was done, and my emotions stabilized, I knew we had one thing left to do. Louise showed up right then, confirming my belief that something bigger was afoot, and we all climbed into the car and drove to town. I had $20 left to my name, and that money went to buy as many flowering plants as I could at the nursery. We drove back home and spent the rest of the afternoon planting flowers on that grave.

When the time came to sell the cabin, I thought about the little deer buried in my front yard, and wondered if the new owner would benefit from its presence. One day, I was telling the story of this deer to my native American friend, and she said “oh honey, that deer came to you to break your heart open!” “What?” I asked her in surprise. “Your heart was so hard then – you wouldn't let anyone in. And then this little deer came down the road, and you let your heart open as wide as could be, and then he died. He broke your heart – because you needed it broken open so you could love again”. I was stunned by her words, and knew without a doubt that she was right. What my dogs had started, opening my heart, needed more help. A little deer volunteered to give its life for me, if by doing so I would start to live again. And so began my journey to learn to love as big and as well as my dogs.

There are a handful of specific lessons Thelma left with me. They are:

• Never hold a grudge - every day is a new opportunity for change
• Show up 100% for everything you do, and rest deeply in between
• It's all about being together, and exploring nature
• Life is an adventure. If you're here, you've already chosen to be an adventurer. Look for the beauty in every moment, and spend time outside at least 3X a day

Thelma had a stroke last week. The vet said if she got through the next 48 hours, chances were good she would recover fully. By friday she was about 90% recovered, but on saturday she refused to finish her breakfast (Thelma never refused food, no matter how much she ate!). The vet said she was probably getting ready for another stroke. She continued to refuse most of her food over the weekend, but seemed happy and healthy on monday morning. We did our usual walk, and then we got 6 inches of snow. Tuesday morning she did not get up when I did, and when I finally asked her, she tried to get up and fell over. I knew then she had had another stroke. The vet said she would probably have a third one, and I could keep her around if I thought she would recover, but not to get heroic. My friend Christee suggested I keep her home and have a vet come to the house to put her down, but she also said she felt that Thelma wanted to die on her own time. I am so grateful she told me these two things. I was able to spend 36 hours with Thelma on the bed, holding her next to my heart, telling her how much she was loved and would be missed. On Wednesday at 5pm, the vet sat on the bed and gave her the lethal injection. Poof, she was gone. I kept her with me overnight and am now going off to bury her. It was one of the most extraordinary experiences I have ever gone through, to feel a body prepare to transition. Even though I am wracked with waves of grief, I feel ever so blessed to have had the privilege of walking with Thelma for these twelve years.

My heart is broken wide open once again. I can only hope that I have learned well from my friend and keep it open, no matter how bad the world looks. I will spend the rest of my life striving to be as good as my dog was. Bless your enormous heart Thelma, and thank you thank you thank you for honoring me with your presence.