Lessons From Dogs
As I write this it is the astrological Samhain but it seems the season is forgotten as people turn ever towards the next celebration. First it was Bonfire Night here in the UK, where people celebrate the discovery of the gunpowder plot - the attempt to blow up the seat of the government. Why we celebrate this is beyond me but that’s a story for another day. Then there’s Yule for Pagans, Christmas for others, Capitalism’s big day where we celebrate the birth of divinity by buying more stuff we don’t need; plastic toys made in China that will be cast aside within a day or two or electronics that steal our attention away from more pressing issues, matters of life and death, of control, of real world meaning.
And I can’t lie, I too look forward to Yule and the time spent in eating and drinking with family and friends, but right now, the season of death still clutches my heart and lingers in my household. On Sunday, my family had to say our final farewells to a beloved family member, our oldest dog. She who was a witch’s hound and protector. Oh the miles we had traversed together, through field, by river and through forest. My fellow adventurer. My loyalist and most loved of friends.
Those who also share their lives with animals will understand the sentiment. I pity those who do not.
She was not a ‘pet’ for I detest that word though I understand we use it for convenience's sake. That word denotes ownership, colonialism, something gotten on a whim with no real thought or feeling, but as I said, most use the word for convenience. Boo would have been classed as a ‘pit bull’ type, illegal here in the UK, which is how she ended up with me, for the person who found her wandering the streets, thin and flea covered, didn’t want to take her to the police or dog warden, for death would have been her instant fate. How people hate and discriminate. Illegal animals, illegal people…
And we owe our animal companions a good life, that we all know, but when the time comes, we are also tasked with the responsibility of giving them a good death as well. They deserve that honour, she deserved that honour, and so that is what we gave her. So instead of prolonging her pain and suffering, she slipped from this life into the next in a peaceful slumber surrounded by those who she loved and who loved her in return, cradled in my arms.
So whilst the world moves ever forwards and everyone looks towards the next festivity, death still lingers within my heart and home. And so I find my way into the woods, those same woods where my girl and I had spent so many glorious hours. Running up and down hill, disappearing off the track and into the woods proper.
As I walk those same trails now, the rain comes down, finding its way through the nearly bare branches and the loose detritus shifts underfoot. Though the sadness and grief still fill my heart, there is a sense of relief, not at her passing but rather a soft happiness that she lives on as memories made come back as though they are carried within the land itself. Memories of her running and the exuberant joy within her whole being, a joy at being free, of being in nature. I often think we could learn a lot from dogs, about freedom and the simple pleasures of living in the here and now. Of living in the moment instead of ever looking forward to the next. Of course I fully understand the need to look towards the next flash of brightness, especially for the poor, the downtrodden, the oppressed. I get it. But the truth is they become just that - just a glimmer of enjoyment in a life of bleakness. A break from the norm, a break sanctioned by those who would keep us in the hamster wheel, by government and Capitalism. Bonfire night, the celebration of the survival of the ruling classes and one that has become just another aspect of Capitalism, as has Christmas, increasingly a secular holiday with the focus on spending, the cost of which extends much further than the money spent on food and decorations and what not. New Year, where we fill ourselves with drink and our hearts with equal measures of nostalgia and hope, hope that the year to come will see the changes we hope will happen. But change, or at least the change we hope to see, can only occur with action.
I must sound like a miser but the truth is, of course, I take part in those celebrations, though not bonfire night. I follow the Wheel of the Year despite not being Wiccan. For me, the Wheel is the perfect analogy for the cycles and seasons of nature, each holiday marking the ebb and flow of those cycles.
And so I am still within the season of death, it’s cold grip can still be felt within my heart and home. And as I wander through the woods and my memories, I am glad of them both, even though my memories are bittersweet because they remind me that the cycle of making memories with my beloved girl is at an end. And so I take my memories of her and the lessons learned from her into the future, for isn’t that one way our beloved dead live on? And what would those lessons be? To live in the moment and fully, to experience it all with truth and with feeling. To honour family and friends. To guard and protect those who cannot do so for themselves. To love with my whole being and to sink my teeth and claws into my enemies, those that would harm me and keep me caged.
These are the lessons she taught me, my beloved Boo. These are the teachings of dogs.
Emma Kathryn
My name is Emma Kathryn, my path is a mixture of traditional European witchcraft, vodou and obeah, a mixture representing my heritage. I live in the sticks with my family where I read tarot, practice witchcraft and drink copious amounts of coffee.
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