If the last year has taught us anything, it
has probably offered us the chance to take a step away from the constantly
grinding treadmill of life which had become so familiar; and raised our
awareness and appreciation of the treasures to which we had become blind. Our
observational skills have become more acute, we take time to watch the nuanced
changes in nature and attach meaning to our limited opportunities for social
interactions. When I was walking with the dogs on Exmoor a few days ago, I
paused to listen to a skylark as he spiralled higher and higher until his voice
was faint as he disappeared into cloud. His efforts lasted several minutes,
then his song became more distinct as he dropped towards the ground. A little
further along, a kestrel flew up from the heather and circled on the air
currents which lifted her without effort. As she glided, her wings
outstretched, she found a stream of air which lifted her higher, then hovering,
she scanned the ground for prey. Several times she repeated her task until I
saw her plummet, stop, and then drop down to the ground. Whether she was
successful in her hunt I don’t know, but she reminded me to take time to pause
and simple be a part of what is around us; our senses heightened to the sound
and feel of the warmth in the breeze, the rustle of small creatures hidden
beneath the grass we walk on, the interrelationships of all around us. We are
not distinct from these happenings, we are a part of this world however
transient it may feel to us at times.
There are moments when we simply feel a
change, we may not even see it with our eyes but we sense it. Sitting on a
hanging log over a stream yesterday, I closed my eyes, cleared my mind and
allowed my thoughts to gently drift. I focussed on the dogs and felt a magnetic
pull towards them, then I sensed another being, opening my eyes to see a
wagtail on the stones in the shallow water. We all have the capacity for more nuanced
awareness, once we step away from the inane protection of business and noise,
and absorb the quiet space that remains. The space that is ourself, uncluttered
by our belief systems and coping mechanisms. The space that enables growth,
understanding, compassion.
It has taken me a few weeks to write about
my foster dog Nina. I have been grieving for the loss of Bertie, he was a
wonderful gentle soul whose illness only gave us a short time with him. He
enjoyed the little time he had and Nina has come to us in his memory. Nina
means beautiful in Hindi, strong in Native American, friend in Arabic and
flower in Greek. She was named by a friend who had kindly donated to Bertie’s
care, and in her own time she will find the strength to overcome her fears, to
blossom into the beautiful soul that she is, to find trust and friendship. For
now though, she is scared and anxious. At first too scared to even move, her
breathing shallow whenever I was close, making herself invisible. She lay in
her bed all day watching, vigilant for any change and only moving at night to
eat. After a few weeks, to the eye she doesn’t appear greatly changed but there
is change. It is subtle but her breaths are deeper, her eyes less anxious, and
hugely, she choses to move away from me when I change her bed or give her food.
There has been a physiological change, at first she would freeze when she
perceived danger, now she is able to move. She is starting to process and plan,
to chose which option works best for her. She is developing strategies which
allow her to feel safer; I respect her choices and am grateful to see her move
away from me. Inner feelings of safety are profound and essential for her
levels of stress to become lowered. Andy Hale talks about permanent and
temporary relief from things that cause stress for an individual. For Nina, it
may take many months for her to feel safe, to even think about interacting with
humans. But, each time I listen to her choices for distance, for no eye
contact, for me to be quiet and calm, to remove any glimmer of expectation,
then she can gain some temporary relief. Over time, these moments add up and
develop into the smallest flicker of trust. The journey is dog centric, led by
her alone. She will decide when she is able to move forward, which to us may
seem a negative behaviour, but at this point any outward expression of how she
is feeling internally is huge.
My role is to support her, to create the best
environment I am able in order for her to heal. That includes keeping my
presence to a minimum and respecting her agency, her decisions. This stepping
away isn’t failure, it isn’t personal or negative. It stems from regard for
Nina’s intrinsic personhood and needs; and removing human centred expectations
of how we believe another nonhuman animal ‘should’ feel and behave. In time it
may be that I can help her by offering guidance so that she is more able to
adjust with confidence, but that time is in the future.
Letting a relationship evolve takes
courage; ignoring the voices in our head that say we should be doing this or
they aught to be doing that. When we observe or even simply feel the smallest
changes which inform us of the shift in another’s thinking, those are the
moments which tell us we are to trust ourselves, to trust our intuition and to
wait some more. This paradigm moves beyond the relationship with a scared
rescue dog; regard for the intrinsic values and agency of others takes away
many of our own self-imposed pressures and invites a more open arena for
dialogue.
