It’s two in the morning, and I walk in the dark through a piñon forest. My heart pounds with fear as I sense coyote and bobcat eyes watching through branches I can barely see in the dim light of a sickle moon. I am walking through the biggest fear I have about my mother’s passing besides the sadness: inheriting her dog, Mischief.
He is like the Tasmanian Devil. A Yorkshire Terrier, he exerts energy in all directions, jumping on and over furniture, across the dining room table and onto the bed. He pees on the carpet and couches. He whines whenever he loses the center of attention.
Now, in the forest, he leads me between two huge piñon trees as he sniffs through the darkness, not lifting his leg to pee, so we can go back inside and to bed. Instead he roots around, darts here and there, tugs on the leash. I chant my word to engender patience and then whisper, “Pee, Mischief, please.”
Suddenly to my left, a whoosh rises from a tree, followed by frantic flapping. My heart leaps into my throat as what sounds like a Pterodactyl takes flight. I lose my word and instead grab the dog roughly and carry him to the front door. I plop him down, wanting to scream out at the star-speckled sky. Instead, I take him inside, open the garage door and say “If you have to pee, do it in there,” and I head back to bed.
I detest my anger, and now it keeps me awake for hours more.
This is the very scenario I feared. I’ve loved Mischief, but known that we aren’t compatible. A month ago, when my mother passed away, I quickly set about finding him a home. Within a week I did, but the man called at dawn the next day asking me to pick the dog up. Another possibility arose. Mischief remained at that home for five days before the call came to come get him. I returned him to the kennel, where I would visit to take him for walks, unwilling to let him destroy my house or my peace.
Then he got an eye infection, and I had little choice but to bring him home. I drove to the pet store and purchased a doggie diaper that I strapped on him. Then we went to my house, and with a dry mouth and pounding heart, I opened my door to him. Very soon he lifted his leg on the corner of the couch, but the diaper stopped the mess, and thus his first real lesson in this creation came: He wet himself.
I began working with a trainer, who helped me teach the dog not to whine. As I cooked dinner, I would stand and chant my word while he whined and whined for attention. Finally, when he stopped and settled onto the floor I would turn, kneel and pet him. Slowly he came to understand that there are better ways to find love.
Then I saw the reflection. Especially during this time when I am so vulnerable, my lower self wants to create mischief. It seeks attention through jumping around and whining. It thinks it can’t do the tasks before it—convene some 16 family members and disperse my mother’s treasures among them, hold a memorial celebration, and clear out my mother’s house. At times I miss her, and only want to fold into a ball on my bed.
I see that I can have my sadness, but I must do with the self-pity the same as I do with Mischief’s whine. I acknowledge that it’s present, but don’t give into it, don’t bow to its illusory needs. Instead I stay with my Beloved until it quiets—and it does quiet. In fact, it disappears into the love. I see that I have nothing to fear, and that I can meet every challenge. And I do. The family arrives and I help disperse my mother’s possessions to them, the memorial party convenes old and dear friends in an atmosphere of love, and the house, in its time, is getting cleared.
In the following days, miraculously, Mischief quiets down. I have him on healthy food, and he seems to understand that he does not have to act out to receive love. In my newfound quiet, I recognize that I stand above the lower creation. Nothing relies on it. I merely channel the love and attention to it.
In the next weeks with the Beloved I surrender, become willing and happy to keep Mischief here with me. I grow to like the idea, plan a fence on my property. I come to appreciate the way he tucks in close to my body at night, the way he follows me from room to room and looks up at me with pleading brown eyes.
Then one day an email comes. An elderly woman is interested in adopting him. My heart sinks with the idea of losing him. But I surrender and take him to meet Barbara (same name as my mother). It isn’t what I hope. She lives in low-income elderly housing and doesn’t have a yard. And yet, when she meets him, she immediately loves him, for all of him—his rambunctiousness, his swarthy boldness as he jumps up on her coffee table and sniffs around, and she loves those pleading brown eyes too.
In the coming days I explore other options for Mischief. I put an ad on Craigslist. I’m honest with each caller about what a handful he is. I interview a woman from Taos, a couple in Nambe and a man in El Paso, all interested. But none of them say, as Barbara did, “Yes, I really want him.”
I keep releasing to the Beloved, asking, asking, for what is best. Since I have quieted the inner mischief, I am able to hear. One day I feel certain that Barbara is the one. I take Mischief, his food dishes and toys to her apartment. While there, I meet the neighbors who share a broad courtyard with her. They are as excited as she to have him in their community, and of course Barbara swoops him up in her arms and kisses his forehead and belly. “I love him already,” she says.
I return home happy for his new life, yet sad he is no longer in mine, except for occasional visits. But it feels right here. My home has returned to the sweet, contemplative space that I have fought a lifetime to create.
In the evening the phone rings. When I hear Barbara’s voice, my heart sinks, assuming she wants me to pick Mischief up. But instead she launches into the tale of his first day in his new home. The neighbor Della insisted on walking him. Then Barbara took him to the grocery store and wheeled him around in the cart. “He was the center of the party!” she says, explaining how everyone came up to greet him. As we talk he lies next to her in bed with the AC and television going, just like it was at my mother’s house (though he no longer pees inside). “I am thrilled with him,” she says.
Suddenly I see: The Beloved only wants us to be ourselves. I could have kept Mischief and tried to make him fit here in my life, but how much better that he be in a place where he is loved for who he is. I too get to be who I am, whenever I trust the Divine guidance.
We are the greatest of adventurers, exploring the complex landscape of our fears and desires. The treasure we bring home is our true Self: pure love.
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Being ourselves. So much easier said than done. Thank you, L., for another excellent post.
So true, Richard. It is definitely a process of coming to know ourselves so we can BE ourselves. Thank you for being here.
Lesley,
What a beautiful story… I was with you all the way! I could so identify with your dilemma, and I love and aspire to your resolution. When we show up and trust… amazing things happen. Much love…
Joan
Thank you, Joan. Yes, that was one of the bigger lessons in this. At first I wanted to shove the experience away, but once I embraced it, it became rich beyond measure. That seems to be a great truth of life.
I’m sorry that I was in your story. But glad that you have Divine guidance and that you are happy.
Pat
Pat, I am so glad you were in my story. Our conversation about listening for the “Yes!” is what guided me to finding a good home for Mischief, so your help was invaluable. I know that you will find the perfect companion, in whatever form that takes. Blessings to you, dear soul.
Loved this one, Lesley, and can so relate to the need for a quiet and contemplative space too.
Mischief is adorable in the photos, and I’m so glad you found him a great home. We had the same dilemma when my mother passed and her cat Jessie needed a home, so I can relate.
You captured the dilemma and a lovely outcome so well; thank you.
Felicia, it does seem to be a universal challenge: how much of our parents’ creations are we willing to take on. I knew I had a range of options, from taking him to the pound to keeping him, but only once I was willing to dive in and live the experience did the beautiful lessons come. I am so grateful for the Divine courage graced to me to do so. I hope your mother’s cat found a good home too.
I would not have your patience, Lesley..
No way. To the pound with the mischief and surrender the outcome.
Al, attachment didn’t really allow me to take that option, or maybe it is love. In any case, Mischief was a perfect teacher for me, especially since patience is an attribute I am only coming to know in recent years. Gratefully, I got to know it more through this. Thank you for your presence here–always happy to see you.
We can only be our selves, everybody else is already taken……
So true and sweet, Thomas. Thank you!
Beautifully told, how every experience could be experienced with surrender to the Beloved.
Yes, Sherri, that was my strongest sense of this experience. I had no choice but to keep surrendering and surrendering. We really don’t know what is best for us until we are shown.
great story of the exploration of yourself and how you felt about your mother’s death, then how it showed up externally in Mischief… Happy outcome…
Yes, Cynthia, these experiences that take us to our limits really are simply explorations. When viewed that way, all becomes much easier. Thank you!
Very heart-touching. A beautiful reminder of our fears in the those of grief. Thank you so much for writing this <3 <3 <3
Oh I got such a kick out of your further unfolding through Mischief. Perfectly named it appears. How great when we can make the connection to a part of us which wants addressing. I would love a dog and at the same time know one will not fit with my lifestyle until I am ancient if then.
Thanks Leslie
PS?That first few sentences of walking through the woods in the dark is a great beginning to a short story or novel.
Wow, what a journey…& experience…I found myself wanting to control the outcome…can you imagine that ! Your anger, patience, persistence, love, and surrender all played a part ! And the cute little soul found the best home ! Imagine all the love they all will experience !!! Thank you Lesley …another amazing and insightful post !! Now I have to look more closely at my part !!!!
I’m so glad Mischief found the place he was meant to be and where he is loved for himself. He, too, is mourning the passing of your mother in his own way, which may have accounted for his, well, mischief at your house! Happy ending for all!
Lesley:
Many people go out and get an animal without knowing anything about the breed and things don’t work out for the animal or the animal’s care giver. You didn’t have that choice as you inherited Mischef and then you found the perfect match for him. Barbara had the pain of needing the right animal to love and for that animal to love unconditionaly and you found that match. Good for you
What a great adventure with Mischief!
How sweet she ended up with another Barbara.
As always, thanks for sharing.
I LOVE the reflective principle!
Now i need to apply it to my dog and her/my problems.
Absolutely gorgeous opening line, Lesley. And the article itself is so filled with maturing love, and growth in spirit. The multiple layers of lessons provided here give me the same spiritual charge as reading Hafiz or Rumi where no matter the angle of view one takes, a new lesson is offered. I deal with so much Mischief myself that it is nice to see another way to handle it. It is a simply beautiful story, with a very satisfying ending. Thank you for sharing with us.
Lesley, this is soooo funny and transformational…….( especially knowing that sweet Mischief) here is the Mind’s idea and then look at all the other ways available………..so glad he found his home and you found another level/layer of that Divine cake 😉
love is us!
deb
Loss the waves ,of calm, of storms, winds they rock our world ,and I try to stuff a parable into my head, “Calm seas don’t make good sailors”, or , “Handlers make horses”,and the world turns indifferent, But your words light the way for humanity.
Lesley, this was quite the real life story which reflected so well what you have taught me your wonderful writing course. My attention was riveted to every word, anxiously waiting to see what would happen next. I know the energy that these Yorkshire Terriers have because the girl next door owns two of them and wow, I have never seen such energy before! I truly appreciated the message that you channeled through this story, by letting go and letting the Master, the perfect home was found for Mischief, and he will be such pleasure to the older folks he now has as his owner and friends! It all worked out so perfectly despite what turmoil your mind tried to create! This was very inspirational for me and it’s message can and will be used in my life in so many areas….lol Thank you for sharing this personal story and using it to channel the Shabda!
Thank you for a beautiful parable, one through which I easily hear our Master’s voice and loving wisdom. I am referring to your story in my next blog post going up in about a week. I will try to create a link to your essay, not just a mention of it. Adventuring one step further into acquiring online communication skills… prompted by wanting to spread the Word still farther afield.