Yes, Covid happened and it is still happening. Despite the global pandemic and the political climate continually being tense everything else in life is still happening. One of the “things” that happened in late March, 2020 was our pet wolf, Takoda, started to go blind followed by a rapid dying process.
Let me paint a picture of Takoda for you. He was all white, with a black outline around his eyes that resembled eyeliner. He was about 95 pounds with the illusion of being larger as his long hair and fluffy tail created hypnotic motion, and that if you were to meet him, you would swear you stumbled upon a scene out of BBC’s Planet Earth. He was stunning, striking and most of all he was gentle. He loved to lean his body next to ours, he loved Ryan’s homemade bread, he was our hiking buddy and he smiled a lot. He was the first to tell me when Ryan returned home from one of his road trips. Many times Takoda and I had eye conversations. Each time his golden amber eyes reminded me of the meaning of unconditional love. I often felt sad, happy, then sad again. Sad that not more people have experienced this type of love. Happy because I was blessed to have this in my life. Sad at myself for sometimes allowing my numb skull to overwrite my ability to be unconditionally loving. I still have so much to learn.
In the beginning Takoda was hiding his illness from us by acting like his energetic self. He even went on a day trip with Ryan to pick up our new puppy, as if he wanted to make sure we have another four legged friend before his passing. Then he finally let us know something was seriously wrong by not eating. The vet did the bloodwork, the ultrasound, but there was nothing they could find. Little cysts started to show around his lymphs; in his armpits, on the side of his ribs. At that time there was nothing we could have done except to make him feel more at ease.
Ryan was mad, angry to be precise, at the vet who didn’t do a more detailed checkup months before. I too felt heat arise from my chest that could lead to several unbelievably distractive thoughts, some of which were even violent. I did not want to spread my negative vibes around our dying wolf. I sang to him, even played guitar for him. I cried and I sang and then cried some more. I screamed at the top of my lungs and howled like a mommy wolf who had just lost her child into the woods, into the sky, and begged for a miracle.
We took him to acupuncture appointments, which he loved. We made him bone broth, with Ayurvedic ingredients. He would only let me feed him little by little with a syringe. He would lean his head into my heart when I practiced myofascial release and sound therapy with him. He continually challenged me on my perceptions, my beliefs on what compassion is. I did not know a wolf could love this much.
We had a farewell party for him. Ryan’s cousins came down from San Francisco to join us. We sat around Takoda. He was looking so tired. We put our hands on him letting him know he was loved…so much by all of us. We told his mischievous stories, the nicknames we used to call him. He raised his head with great effort and smiled. He chose to sit next to the rose bush and no longer came inside the house. Just walking inside the house was difficult for him. Ryan camped in the yard to be close to him. This went on for three more weeks. Then it was my birthday. I wasn’t in the mood to celebrate. Takoda came inside the house to be close to remind me of his love for me and for all of us. We hugged him some more and cried even more.
A week later was Mother’s Day, again he came inside the house to sit by me. Next day, Ryan gave him a spa day, brushed and trimmed his undercoat. He smiled and smelled the wind with deep thoughts. It was a good day. We told him we never wanted him to leave but if he is in pain and ready to go, don’t worry about us, we would be ok. We told him many many times how grateful we were to have him in our lives, how blessed we were to have known him and thanking him for all the lessons he bestowed upon us. We felt humble, we felt brave, we felt we glimpsed at the TRUTH.
The day came, and Takoda wandered right outside the bedroom french door to signal us. Then he exhausted most of his energy to walk up the ramp that Ryan built at the front porch. He sat there. His blinded eyes were looking far away beyond this realm. His time was almost up. I called for Eureka to get Ryan from the shed to tell him it was time -- His best friend is transitioning out of his body. Takoda was hallucinating and looked like he was having a conversation. His head was moving all over the place which in a way similar to a myofascial unwinding. I supported his head and unwinded with him. Ryan and Eureka hugged him. We told him “it’s ok, it’s ok, we love you. Thank you.” over and over again. Then he let go. He passed on. The blood was still running inside his body. No more than thirty minutes later his body started to stiffen and body waste was released from his body. I cleaned him up, and obsessively brushed and brushed his hair. He looked like he was taking a nap after we went for a long hike except his tongue was sticking out. We wrapped him up in white sheets. We clipped some of his hair by his ears, his back and his tail to remember him by.
I started to imagine my own passing. Would I be this brave to face my death? Would I be this loving when I am in pain? Would I still keep my integrity when I am no longer able to see? When I am walking around our property and in the forest I see a glimpse of Takoda running next to me, I feel his essence nearby. I howl to the moon when I miss him. And still do.
