I'm Here

Jasper La Rue, February 22, 1990 - August 24, 2006

I first met Jasper when I was helping a friend rent her casita. I volunteered to meet people and show them the casita and do a little interview because my friend lived several states away.

Jasper and her person J.P. so impressed me I lobbied for their acceptance as tenants in spite of my friend’s resistance to dog-people being a part of the deal. In the end, Jasper won over everyone and she and J.P. spent some time in the casita.

For the next few years, I ran into J.P. fairly regularly but it wasn’t until they moved a few houses away that I saw Jasper again. For the last few months, I’ve been going almost daily to check in on her while J.P. was at work.

I say “check in on her” as if I were looking after her, but with Jasper it was never certain who looked after whom. She had a presence that easily led one to wonder if she weren’t a lama in a black dog suit. At the same time, she was ordinary in a comforting way.

She was wobbly and then even more wobbly, so help getting up was sometimes appreciated. In recent weeks, she often didn’t stir at all when I arrived. I would just pull up a chair and sit to enjoy the peace. Other times she was restless and in and out and dismayed when I left. J.P. reported sleepless nights because Jasper was up and about so much.

Around August full moon, we were certain she was giving up the body. I brought flowers and J.P. did ceremonies. In a dream, Jasper showed a boat full of orange and some purple flowers waiting to take her across. Many said their good-byes. But, she didn’t leave. She got a little peppy again. Through it all, she kept her interest in food, kept the tail-wagging going, and emitted lots of love.

In the last week, she seemed more over the water than here, but not really gone. She seemed to know what she was doing. It appears now she was waiting for new moon.

Thursday morning I was about to have a video chat with someone when I suddenly felt an urge to check on Jasper first. Dear old thing, she had gotten herself up and had been wandering about the house vomiting foamy blood. Her left side was extended noticeably. It’s likely her spleen had ruptured. Her tongue was hanging out and she was panting fast. The moment I saw her, I heard, “It’s time.”

She had already communicated to J.P. that assistance might be needed at the end. Things moved very quickly, with the arrival of J.P. from work, a friend, and the vet friend who had volunteered to help if needed. The pale blue soft sheet that had been set aside for her body to be wrapped in was laid on the grass. But first, Jasper went around to each of us to say good-bye, even though it was clearly painful to stand still. She leaned into me for a good half-minute as if to give deep thanks. I felt blessed by presence.

Again, even though it must have hurt terribly, she willingly lay down on the sheet and looked deeply into J.P.’s eyes as the medicine was administered. Jasper had said through an animal communicator she felt no fear to get on the boat that was waiting for her. She left quickly, smoothly, and with grace. Even taking the body to the crematorium happened swiftly. She just didn’t seem to need the form for very long once she was gone as if all were complete with the last breath.

Jasper was over sixteen years in age, so I knew her for a very short time and yet it seems we were old friends. And I was lucky to know her in this special time of her life coming to a close. I wish to give proper tribute to her life, but I find myself at a loss to express her extraordinary ordinariness and how her certain love touched so many. Unconditional love is the nature of most dog-people, but Jasper wasn’t dramatic or slobbery about it. She was wholly herself and, at least during the time I knew her, totally at ease with the simplicity of that. No embellishments needed. As if to say, “I’m here.” Nothing more is necessary.

Blue Angel: Chata, March, 2004 - August 2, 2006

Years ago, Sharon said she often sees a blue angel comes when an animal is about to die. We were talking, I think, about Beija, a beautiful brown lab who lived next door. She was young and with cancer. I was inquiring what Sharon was getting from her. “I see a blue angel, ” she said. But when asked, Beija said she didn’t think she was dying. As it turned out, Beija left her body within an hour or two of my conversation with Sharon.

I don’t have a consistent sense of angels, but I did “see” the the Blue One when Bonz was about to leave. In fact, Bonsai seemed to attract a lot of angel energy. Sometimes I think angels were more real to her than we worldly entities.

On Wednesday morning, in my meditation, I had a strong sense of an intensely blue angel. Words erupted aloud, “Not Chata!” I soon settled back into meditation and then a different interpretation. Surely the Blue One was coming for the elder dog of my neighbor. Surely it was not as I initially thought. By the time I got up to start my day, the vision had faded enough that I didn’t think to look specifically for Chata.

Thursday, I looked. No Chata. Later in the day, two ravens came close with a lot to say. I checked on the elder dog. Still here. And still no Chata.

This morning, on the way to feast day at Santo Domingo Pueblo, I stopped by the Animal Shelter. A calico, short hair, was retrieved by an animal officer sometime on Wednesday morning, hit while crossing St. Francis Drive. Unfortunately, the dead ones are cremated on Thursdays, so there was no body to look at to confirm it was her. The officer who picked the body up won’t be able to look at the photo until Monday, but I feel certain this dear being is gone from her body. Too many clues.

Like Monkey Gurl, she had a clear-eyed presence. She was new to my yard. I think things got crowded at my neighbors’ house. I saw her a few times being chased across the roofs and I don’t think it was playful. She settled in here about two or three months ago, and had even begun to come inside and rest on the soft places the inside cats like to rest on. Sometimes I wouldn’t notice she was in when I closed the door, but she seemed to like a little indoor nap, so I let her be. She never stayed in overnight, but I predicted come winter she would.

A friend, on seeing her one day, remarked that she looked like the sort of being you would meet in a bar on a strange world visited by the Enterprise space ship. Her markings were almost comical. On her back, it looked like black and tan paint had been applied with a two-inch wide brush. But the tan around her nose and eyes is what gave her an other-wordly look to us humans--it appeared to flatten her face, but it was an optical illusion. She looked almost cross-eyed, too, but again I think that came from her coloring.

She adored Beemer. When he was around, she rubbed against him frequently. She wasn’t bothered by his bossy ways, nor was she intimidated by Puffer Vasu when she came through the studio organizing and inspecting.

On learning of Chata’s passing, Sharon remarked that it was “so very amazing that she died on St. Francis Drive. She has gone home to be with Francis.” I like that she noted it was St. Francis. I’ve come to think of it as a busy, noisy street which is particularly dangerous for animals. I had forgotten its namesake.

These cats, it seems, are to teach me about the ease of coming and going in and out of form. If I wanted to have a visit, short or long, as a cat, I would gladly pick my neighbors and me as a very good group to land in. Good food, good housing, love, freedom to come and go, and a sweet cat community. Sharon said, “Your unconditional love for her gave her everything (and more) that her soul needed in this journey through Earth school.” I think that is the ultimate teaching, giving unconditionally. They do that for us, so it becomes easier to reciprocate.

And when she went, I like to think of that big Blue One scooping up her soul for the ride home, like being held by a great mother through the transition out of the body. A birth, a death, a change.

This afternoon, cats came in and played. I had the sense they were celebrating Chata, like they did when Louie-Louie passed. Balls were batted and tossed and carried and there was a fair amount of bounding over chairs and leaping in mock fright. They haven’t brought that play energy indoors since summer began. It seems like a fitting expression of a life well-lived.