Animals and the Afterlife (52 page)
“Come to me, Brother Wolf,” he said. He ordered the wolf not to hurt anyone, and the formerly vicious wolf lowered his head and lay down at St. Francis’s feet. St. Francis told the wolf he wanted to make peace. He explained that the people of Gubbio would no longer harm the wolf, and the wolf was no longer to harm them. He said that all past crimes were to be forgiven.
The wolf literally nodded his head in agreement. Then, as a crowd of people gathered and watched in amazement, St. Francis asked the wolf to make a pledge, and as he extended his hand, the wolf extended his front paw and placed it in St. Francis’s hand.
St. Francis then commanded the wolf to follow him into the town square to make a “peace pact” with the people. The wolf followed St. Francis and remained at his side as he gave a sermon to the townspeople, who felt they were witnessing a miracle. St. Francis offered peace on the wolf’s behalf, explaining that “Brother Wolf” would no longer be killing for his sustenance, and the townspeople promised to feed the wolf. When asked if he agreed to the terms of this peace pact, the wolf bowed his head and again placed his paw in St. Francis’s hand.
For the rest of his life, the wolf lived peacefully among the townspeople, going from door to door for food and love. He harmed no one and no one harmed him. Not even dogs barked at him. When the wolf eventually died of old age, the people of Gubbio were saddened at the loss. They had witnessed not only the gift of St. Francis, but the power of love, forgiveness, and understanding; and the possibility of interspecies peace.
M
ANY PROPHECIES SPEAK OF A TIME
in our future here on Earth when we will have at last attained peace—a time when the lion will
literally
lie down with the lamb, and there will be no more killing. I am hearing more and more reports of biologically carnivorous animals who are mysteriously refusing to eat meat (even “organic” meat)—and are thriving regardless—and I can’t help but wonder if this is a sign that a more peaceful future is in sight for
all
of us. Perhaps these animals are here to assist us in our
own
spiritual evolution—here to teach
us
a better way.
I do know many people whose beloved dogs and cats consume a vegetarian or vegan diet, and contrary to what one might think, these animals are living unusually long, healthy lives. In fact, as of this writing, to my knowledge, the oldest living dog in the world is a 27-year-old border collie who thrives on a vegan diet. (Please note: When making any dietary change, it’s important to make sure all nutritional requirements are being properly met. For more information on vegan diets for animals, visit
www.VeganPets.com
.)
Perhaps one of the first cases of an animal refusing to eat meat took place in the 1940’s. Little Tyke, a lioness, absolutely
refused
to eat flesh, despite her human caretakers’ best attempts at getting her to do so. She was an exceptionally gentle being who lived harmoniously among many animal friends, including a lamb named Becky, with whom she did, indeed, lie down peacefully. (Her story is told in the book
Little Tyke,
by Georges Westbeau, as well as online at
www.CompassionCircle.org
.)
Little Tyke chose nonviolence as a way of life, even though it was supposed to go against her biology to do so—and she thrived. I wonder what it will take for humanity to likewise choose nonviolence as a way of life. I wonder what
our
excuse is, or if we even have one, for creating so much violence in our world. Animals such as Little Tyke have so much to teach us, if we only listen.
Likewise, our own companion animals have so much to teach us. They bring us joy, they bring us unconditional love, and they teach us how very precious and sacred life is. There’s something about fur that creates an external
and
internal warmth and softness. (And even if they don’t have fur, they are soft and warm in their own special way.) We are lucky to touch them … and we are luckier when they touch us.
Everything I have learned on my journey with the animals has shown me that they truly are our spiritual brothers and sisters, and it is high time we start treating them as such. We are on this journey
together.
*For Free Vegetarian/Vegan Starter Kits, contact:
1-888-VEG-FOOD
(
GoVeg.com
)
and
1-800-MEATOUT
(
Meatout.org
)
I also recommend
ReasonsForVegan.com
and
PCRM.org
True love is boundless like the ocean and, swelling within one, spreads itself out and, crossing all boundaries and frontiers, envelops the whole world.
—G
ANDHI
A
S TIME WENT ON
, more and more people found their way to me during times of tremendous grief over the loss of a beloved animal, and as I shared their pain, I realized how perfect it was that I should be endowed with the gift of experience. I had experienced so much loss in my own life, and I now saw the Divine plan in all of it, for it enabled me to truly relate to those who came to me for support.
Likewise, as time went on, more and more dying animals came to me when they had been discarded because they were not viewed as worthy of veterinary care or even euthanasia. Many of them had been abused, neglected, or abandoned, and I felt honored to be the one who got to help them release their pain and experience love for perhaps the first time in their lives. I was able to truly
be there
for them during their final hours on Earth, and I realized that this, too, was all part of the Divine plan.
Days became months and months became years, and one day, it suddenly occurred to me that over seven years had passed since that remarkable little being named June had opened a new chapter in my life, a chapter that had brought me so much growth and healing. My, how time had flown. As I grasped the reality of all that had happened since then, I found myself immersed in a feeling of total love and acceptance.
I had come such a long way since those final, desperate moments of June’s life—those feelings of despair and of certainty that I could
never
love another animal again—and
certainly
not as much as I had loved
her
. Yet, time had taught me that love is not nearly so limited as I had once believed. Indeed, I
had
loved other animals after her. My heart had broken when she died, yet as my heart healed, it had become stronger than ever. It had become somehow capable of loving more fully and completely, in a more expansive and unlimited way than ever before.
Of course, I had been faced with a long, painful journey to the depths of despair before I had reached the bottom. Thankfully, when I got there, I found that the bottom was actually an illusion; and in time, it became a portal, a doorway that led out to a fresh beginning. And when I emerged out through this doorway, I still had June’s love with me, yet I also had an understanding of the seasons of life and death, and an acceptance that brought me peace.
As I looked back upon the fragile, frightened person I had been when June left, I now realized how I had been transformed by the journey her leaving had sent me upon. I had become stronger, more okay with myself, more okay with loss, and more certain that death is by no means the end. And because of the doorway that she had opened, so many remarkable beings had entered my life since then.
One such being was that precious little rat named Allison, the one who died a mere six months after she entered my life, yet returned to me later and made it so clear that she was the same being (as told in Chapter 16, “Sweet Reunions”). Although June has yet to return to me, I have come to accept that all things happen in their own perfect Divine timing—and my experience with Allison has taught me that such things
do
happen.
In hindsight, I don’t think it’s a coincidence that I chose to name her Allison. When she first entered my life, she was a nameless, abandoned rat in a dirty cage. I just looked at her, wondering what to call her, and the name simply came to me. It just
felt
like the perfect name for her. Then, after she returned to me and I realized who she was, it felt fitting to call her Allison once again.
One day, just recently, it hit me that the name “Allison” sounds very much like, “A lesson.” And she sure has been a lesson for me. She taught me, in a very literal way, that death is not the end; and that somehow, some way, when the time is right, we are truly reunited with those we love.
In many ways, her life was a parallel to June’s life. The first time around, she actually
looked
very much like June. So much so, that when I had that magical dream in which Henry appeared (as told in Chapter 14, “Sweet Dreams”), at first I wasn’t sure whether the rat in the background was Allison or June. When Jameth then shared that he had just had the same dream, he expressed that he, too, had been unsure at first whether the other rat in the dream was June or Allison.
The first time around, Allison hadn’t been with us for very long, yet I had grown quite attached to her in a short time, just like June. The second time around, Allison was with us for much longer, and the bond she and I developed was just as close and deep and meaningful as the bond I had shared with June. And as she grew old and began to show signs that she wouldn’t be around for much longer, I realized that I wasn’t ready to say good-bye.
Allison had several nicknames. Not only was she known as Alligator, which eventually was shortened to Gator; she was also known as Sweet Pea, which, over time, became Sweetest Pea. And perhaps the most appropriate nickname of all was Angel Face. People often commented on her wise, sweet, angelic face.
As Allison grew old and frail, she needed help getting around. So I often picked her up, rocked her, and gently sang what came to be known as “her song,” which I softly sang to the tune of “Edelweiss” (from
The Sound of Music
):
Angel Face
Angel Face
You are my little Angel Face
Soft and sweet
So petite
I love my little Angel Face …
Whenever I sang this and held her against my cheek, she softly chattered in contentment, and the love between us overflowed. As I held her, I was reminded of the love June and I had shared, and I realized that I was now doing what I had once considered impossible: I was loving other animals, and it was
okay
. It didn’t mean I loved June any less; it just meant that I now had many other special little beings who filled my life with unconditional love and joy.
I loved
all
of the wonderful beings who had shared my life since June’s passing, yet there was something extra-special about the connection I had with Allison.
“This is going to be perhaps the most difficult loss since June,” I often told people who asked about Allison as she grew old and weary. There was something about her that was so remarkable, and it was so uplifting to have her near. She radiated such warmth and understanding. She was always the one who comforted other rats who were hurting. She was always the one who comforted
people
who were hurting, just as June had done. Allison was a little ambassador for ratkind, just as June had been. People often asked about her, just as they had once done with June. And she and I had a very strong connection and clear communication, always understanding each other’s thoughts and feeling each other’s feelings.
Toward the end of her life, Allison spent her days on my lap or in a little bed at my side as I worked on this book. She spent her nights in bed with Jameth and me, just as June had done. And when it became apparent that she didn’t have much time left and that it would be her final night with us, I panicked, just as I had done when I knew that June was leaving.
Over time, I had learned how to let go, how to say good-bye. I had also learned how to help the
animals
to let go as they made their transition, often coaxing them to go to the Light and reassuring them that they would be fine. Animals had even begun coming to me with the request that I assist them in their transition, as they were having trouble leaving. And I had become amazed at how, time and time again, as they had struggled to remain alive, I had held them and lovingly reassured them, “It’s okay. You can go.” And more often than not, as soon as I had given them this reassurance, they had gone in peace. Even when they needed the additional assistance of euthanasia, the whole process became much more peaceful for them—and for me.
Yet now I found myself faced with having to say good-bye to little Allison, my precious Angel Face, who had become such a big and important part of my life. I always try not to play “favorites” with the animals in my life, and I truly love them all, yet there was no denying it: She was my extra-special little companion.
As her breath became more shallow and her time became more scarce, I took her to bed with me, knowing with certainty that this would be our final night together. I settled her fragile little body on the pillow next to me and spent hours just stroking her fur and looking into her soulful, loving eyes, reminiscing about our time together. I felt the connection of love between us. It was so full and deep and pure. It felt so eternal.
Then her breathing changed, and she began to show signs that the end was near. I began to cry and beg,
“No!
You
can’t
leave! I just
can’t
let you go! Not
again!
This
isn’t fair!”
And I held her and rocked her as my tears soaked her soft coat.
And she listened. Her breathing steadied, and I realized it had been a false alarm—or perhaps she was giving me another chance to get it right. I apologized to her for begging her to stay—a habit I thought I had overcome by now—and I told her that I understood it was her time. I didn’t
like
it, but I understood it.
It had become a regular practice of mine to play meaningful music during an animal’s transition, whatever piece of music seemed to suit the particular animal. So I settled Allison back down on the pillow facing me, and we continued gazing at one another, exchanging feelings of love; then gently drifted off to sleep together to the tune of “Edelweiss” as I softly sang …
Angel Face
Angel Face
You are my little Angel Face
Soft and sweet
So petite
I love my little Angel Face …
She chattered in contentment, and I continued softly singing her song, the Angel Face song, until sleep overtook me.
When I awakened several hours later, Allison’s little body was very still, and I knew it was over. I held her lifeless body and sobbed, telling her how much I loved her, telling her how much I’d miss her, telling her how special she was—and always would be—to me. I held her body against my cheek and cried, long and hard.
In that moment, I was suddenly reminded of the very similar scene that had taken place many years prior, when I had awakened to
June’s
lifeless body. I now realized, for perhaps the first time ever, that Allison had indeed taught me a powerful lesson. She had taught me that, as difficult as it is to imagine when we are faced with a devastating loss, we truly
can
love again, just as fully and deeply as we did the first time. And that’s what our loved ones
want
for us.
I couldn’t help but notice the parallels between June’s life and Allison’s life, between June’s death and Allison’s death. Yet there was a difference. With June’s death, I came away feeling totally lost and confused, completely helpless and hopeless—and feeling very much alone and abandoned. The path that had unfolded for me
since
June’s death had, over time, taught me so much. And now, with Allison’s death, along with the tears, I felt a sense of peace and understanding. Instead of feeling completely alone and abandoned, I knew that, among the seasons of life, fall had just turned into winter—but surely spring would come again. A feeling of unconditional love washed over me and I felt her say,
I love you—and I always will.