The Pleiades and
Myles to Damon
December 2, 2011
Written
December 1, 2012
By
M.G. Wakeman
Two Jehovah Witnesses knocked on my door December 1st, 2011. They came to spread the word and ask the
ultimate question: “Do I believe in a
creator or evolution”? What kind of
question to ask on the day Pearl is due to deliver here puppies, furthermore, what
is the implication of their arrival on this day, of all days? The universe is
strange in its choreographed manner. I said to the man. “I believe in
evolution. Truthfully, it could be a little of both. I have a miracle about to
take place upstairs, right now, as my Labrador retriever is about to give
birth.” I didn’t get much of a response.
A mild dialogue ensues on the
topic of creation and evolution. I am not one to delve to deep into this type
of conversations with strangers – or at all, but perhaps the message today is
meant for the Jehovah Witness and not me.
There is a man and a woman. The man does most of the talking and
prompting, but seems uncomfortable just being in my door yard. He appears caught
off guard and hesitates to think about my dual belief. Mention of the impending delivery went right
over his head; he failed to see any connection of his arrival on this day, as I
pondered the relevance.
Three months ago this house was
visited by angels of death and now it is visited by angels of life. In between
there was a great deal of waiting and emotion. I spent enough time over the
past months thinking about life – death – spirits – souls – the collective
unconscious. Willow died three months
before, at the age of fifteen and half, we shared a deep connection. I witnessed the departure of my loving
companion, to the conception of the little soul’s about to enter this world;
thoughts in my head were spinning.
It is day sixty-three of pearls pregnancy and
her temperature at 6:45 AM was one hundred degrees. A dog’s body temperature will drop below one
hundred degrees twelve to twenty four hours before delivery. Pearl’s time is soon. It is a chilly December day with clear skies
full of sun. It is a beautiful day, an
easy day. I have spent the past twenty-four hours putting, cleaning, laying
tile in the bath room, folding clothes and arranging the house. By two o’clock in the afternoon Pearl’s
temperature drops to ninety-nine point four degrees. We are closer. This morning I left the dogs home while I went
to town for an errand, came home for lunch, painted the bathroom, and then
walked the dogs briefly, very briefly, in the woods behind the house.
Now it is 4:35 PM and I call the
local vet for emergency numbers and alert them to looming delivery. West Side vet in Keene is on call for the Cheshire
Animal Hospital – our primary vet, doctor Krane in on call. I call the reproductive vet at Claremont Veterinary
Hospital in Claremont, New Hampshire to find Dr Reed is on call. My nerves hold together. Nash, Pearl and I are the only three at home.
I am on my own with this delivery. I do
not breed dogs often with this my fourth in seventeen years; the last litter of
puppies delivered was Willow’s, Nash’s litter, eleven and a half years
ago. Nash is the sire to this litter, it
is his first.
An hour passes and Pearl begins mild
contractions, panting and nesting behavior takes place. So far Pearl is right on queue, as if she read
the book on dog breeding, pregnancy and whelping herself. At two and half she is a young mother, fit,
trim, and completely unaware of the unforeseeable future. It is her first
litter. The day passes into night; I
keep an eye on Pearl and by quarter to midnight her contractions are closer and
panting more intense. Nash and I try to
sleep. In my mind I run through horror situations and imagine when to call the
vet if needed. I prop open the book, Breeding a Litter: the Complete Book of
Prenatal and Postnatal Care. I find
it comforting, but the Complete Book of
Dog Breeding serves me better, as it is easier to understand and doesn’t
feed into my imagination – there are more pictures. Pearl is restless and moves
from the whelping pool, which is a large blue kiddy pool, to my bed, to the
floor. She can’t seem to get comfortable.
She rests, and then goes through it all again starting with the
panting. Between Midnight and 2:15 AM
Pearl sleeps, she wakes up panting, and then falls back asleep. I see a pattern emerge. This is a good sign
and I find comfort in this.
“Please may this go smoothly”? I
say to myself. It has got to be anytime
now. Poor Pearl is miserable, how could
I do this to my girl little girl. Her belly is about to pop. At 2:30 AM I take Pearl outside to relieve
herself, offer water, which she refuses, and Brayer’s vanilla ice cream which
eats enthusiastically. The book says vanilla ice cream will help keep her
energy up, is easy to digest and I find it is good for me too. The
freezer stocked with two gallons of Brayer’s ice cream, with Haagen Daas for
medicinal purposes for me. I don’t want
to run out.
The next day, Friday, arrives and
at 5:25 AM I take Nash and Pearl out for relief again and feed them both. Pearl
eats half a cup of kibble and a tablespoon of more Ice cream-Nash and I have
some too. We all managed to get a couple
of hours of sleep before waking. Doubt and anxiety fester like an irritated
blister. I try to pretend calm. If I am calm, Pearl will be calm, Nash is
always calm. He’s the guy whose job is done and he sleeps most of the time.
Pearl cannot get comfortable for
the next half hour after her breakfast and proceeds through her pacing,
panting, in the whelping box out of the box, and nesting. When she rests, I watch her stomach, it
gurgles with little bodies. I place my
head on its hard surface and feel the muted kicks of a little puppy body
against my face. I listen. There it is
in rapid succession the thump, thump, thump, thump, thump of a little heart
beat. Who is it; could it be her, this
life inside? Only a few months ago I was in this situation listening to a heartbeat
give life as the body faded, now I listen in anticipation of its arrival. Could it be that familiar dog soul who has
been with me since childhood? Could be Willow’s transmigrated soul?
Eventually, Pearl settles and
rests for forty five minutes only to wake again restless. I take Pearl outside again, this time on
leash and walk around the house. A sense
of urgency washes over me and we go back inside. At 7:05 AM there is a fluid
discharge, strong contractions, and Pearl is sitting in the whelping pool. The
sun is rising. The room glows in yellow and gold from sun rays bouncing off the
yellow bedroom walls. The light is everything.
The text books say within an hour after this
discharge I ought to see a puppy. I
watch the clock, review the text, watch Pearl, watch the clock, call my sister,
watch Pearl and sigh. The more I stay out of it the easier this will go, so the
books say. I rely on Pearl’s instincts;
she adjusts to all situations naturally it seems. It has been fourteen hours
since nesting began. If a puppy isn’t born in three to four hours I am to call
the vet, I set ten o’clock in my mind. Nash releases a big sigh and has taken a
reserved seat. He is quiet. There is more panting, nesting, contractions from
Pearl. If Pearl isn’t tired I sure am. Nash wakes and inspects exhausted Pearl.
It is a frosty morning on this
Friday, December 2, 2011. The day is sunny, clear skies and at 8:05 AM the
first little soul arrives in this world.
Among the commotion, anxiety and fear there is absolute unconditional
elation, tears, laughter, pure joy and I wonder; is this for real? Sunshine
resurrected this new day and blazes through the easterly window. Its rays
stretch, reflect off yellow walls of the porch bedroom and radiate a vibrant
glow throughout the room. It’s a girl!
She is beautiful in her sleek
dark, soggy golden yellow coat. A girl
is the first to arrive. Willow just
couldn’t wait and had to be the first through I thought, but is she who I think
she is or better yet wish her to be? She
has to be here, I wished to myself. I listen carefully with my mind, damp down
the everyday thoughts jumbled in my head better to feel the life entering this
world. There it is, instantaneous, with the puppies arrival and first breath;
the little voice in my thoughts. “I
am here, it’s me, I made it through, and here I am”. It said.
I tried to listen for more, make certain what
I heard was true, but was snapped back by reality. Who knows what my mind heard or interpreted,
perhaps just my own wishful thoughts, perhaps not? Events unraveled quickly; there was little
time for nostalgia. I do know this, the little voice who spoke upon arrival, delivered
a very clear message an image; this little soul arrived from somewhere special,
ventured through the portal of death and life to be here for a specific
someone. In fact each one of the puppies
born that day had a specific charge and I was to try and solve the puzzle of who
went with whom.
The birth continues. Pearl is
freaked out. She drops the pup in a
puddle of blood and placenta, leaps out of the whelping pool, and bounds onto
the bed to huddle in the corner. Blood stains floor and quilt. The room previously prepared with plastic,
sheets and quilts. I am freaked out too,
torn in three directions. Help the
puppy, get Pearl back in the pool, and keep Nash away from the newborn. What to
do first? Nash’s incessant barking when removed from the room only added to the
rising level of anxiety. It was easier
to have him in the room.
“Forget Pearl, forget Nash, and help the pup”,
I say to myself, and overcome my squeamishness and act. I wish this would not happen and I certainly
hope Pearl picks up the ball. I tend to
the puppy. I need to break the sack over the face, cut the cord, tie the cord
with dental floss, dab the cord stub with iodine, and rub down the puppy. If only it was that easy. I fumble with
clumsy hands for my bandage scissors, dental floss, gauze pads, and towel at
one point all neatly arranged on a dinner tray table. Now it’s a mess with
everything tossed and jumbled. The pup
squirms helplessly in the pool like a pickerel in a bucket. Everything is so disgustingly slimy and wet
and warm and gross.
“Pearl get your head together and
get over here. Nash keep back.” I say, as I press on. I hold Nash at bay with one hand and try to
break the sack over the puppies face, tie the dental floss round the umbilical
cord, with wet slimy hands, then cut the umbilical cord, and then finally dry
off the puppy. The membrane over the
face doesn’t want to give. Air, the pup
needs air. I pinch the slimy sack between four fingers, press my fingers
through, and it finally gives. The pup gasps for air. She squirms, cries out
and that is when I hear it, the little voice, and that is when I sense it; the
weighty invisible warmth of life. I look
around the room and see only brightness, it is Sunshine.
My joyous moment quickly set aside. I coax Pearl
into the pool, she tentatively examines the life form expelled from her body,
and she begins to lick the puppy clean; one lick, two licks, and then snaps to.
Finally nature takes hold. Yes! Eleven
minutes later another girl arrives. She is just as beautiful as the first;
stocky with a near white yellow coat. She’s a hefty, solid girl of sixteen
ounces, the same as the first girl. I
listen for her voice upon first inhalation of breath; she is endearing and
gentle.
Pearl finally steps into action.
From then on Pearl and I teamed up. Pearl swivels her rump aside to dislodge,
and get the delivered pups out of the way for the new arrival. Once the puppy is delivered I am expected to break
the sack on the face, while she cleans the hind end, and slurps down the
placenta. We make a good team.
There is no time to relax. Pearl literally pops out nine puppies. Girl
after girl appears. I place ribbons on the puppies to keep track of who is who. The first born gets a yellow ribbon, I decide
on pink for the second and the third to arrive at 8:44 AM is given a green
ribbon. Green girl is a smaller version
of Pink, but with more zest. I chose a
rainbow ribbon for the fourth girl who enters this world at 8:51 AM. Rainbow
simply oozes with snuggles. And then, finally to my relief, a boy arrives at
9:05 AM. Another sturdy puppy with a dark yellow coat, he reminds me of his
Sire, Nash, and I decide on a dark blue ribbon for him. I have two families interested in boys, and so
far this is a litter of females. All I
need is one more boy, but then at 9:22 AM the sixth girl appears with vibrancy
and much to say. She is given a white ribbon. Then another girl is born at 9:34 AM, but she
is not a lively as the others. Still she seems fine and becomes Aqua ribbon
girl. Aqua Girl is followed by a scrawny, emaciated female at 10:09 AM. Looking a bit peaked I give her a purple
ribbon.
At this point in time I have
reinforcement, my friend’s son. He arrives just as the purple girls is born and
instantaneously names her Zoe. I gave
him a frantic call to deliver more Brayer’s vanilla ice cream. By now we are quite tired from lack of sleep
and commotion. “Just one more boy,
Pearl, all I need is just one more boy, please.” I say. Finally, at 10:43AM the last and cutest
little boy is born. Number nine gets the red ribbon. He is
only twelve ounces, the same as the previous girl.
Between 8:05 AM and 10:43 AM nine
brand new little bodies inhabited with nine souls were born. All weighed
between twelve and sixteen ounces, the last two were just wee little
things. They are called The Pleiades
litter. Seven sisters and Two Brothers survived this day; each little soul with
its heart’s desire to be found. They were all born from the heart and raised
with love.
Two weeks later, when the puppies
eyes opened, there was one little girl who sat in front of me, and looked into
me, and I could hear that little voice of Willow’s. It was Little Miss Sunshine
who claimed me and became Willow Sunshine.
She was the first girl who arrived at 8:05 AM on December 2, 2011. I suppose I always knew, but clarity escaped
me, the second born felt as if she herself were Willow too. The essence of Caccha’s Willow came forth that
morning, and brought along eight other life forms to join, or rejoin, with
their human soul mate. Regardless of the
validity in this line of thought I try to look at this litter of puppies, as
just another litter, but find comfort in my interpretation and intuition. A new
journey has begun.
Goodbye
Willow
August
9, 2011
Her heart fluttered
like the wings of a hummingbird, then beat a whisper or two or three, and
quietly fluttered again. Back and forth
it struggled for oxygen no longer delivered.
Forced against its will to shut down, the body could no longer keep up
with its zest for life. Unwilling to
surrender to the hand of death it struggled against a losing battle.
It is early morning
just after seven, the sun shines strong, it’s going to be beautiful day. In my
lap I keep vigil over your precious vessel, old, limp, and crippled with
arthritis. I will sit with you in my lap, Willow, and keep watch over your body
until it lets go. Your breaths,
restful and deep, ripple over a gray tongue and through flaccid jowls: Eyes vacant of life and soul. The music in my headphones continues.
At 7:19 AM, Willow,
with a stretch, grasps for air, begins to let go. Nine minutes later the rhythm of her heart
stops giving life and our journey of a lifetime together sadly comes to an end
on August 9, 2011.
It is 7:28 AM – she
is gone.
Where did you go I
wonder, where is the gentle soul who once inhabited your precious body? That, I
suppose, is the ultimate question.
Journey
Beings
May
30, 1996
3:15
AM
She squirmed across the
sheet, struggled in darkness, driven by instinct, the last puppy born edged
closer to my armpit. Marveled by her strength, beauty and exquisite
perfectly formed miniature canine features. The puppy nudged my armpit in search
for sustenance. Like a butterfly kiss,
it tickled. I savored this delicate
moment. Gently I wrapped by fingers about the tender lifeform and plugged
her onto her mother’s nipple, along with eight other siblings. Seconds old and we already had a soul touching
moment, and to think her first scent of this world, my armpit. I liked this one instantly. Sometime during the early morning we
finally all slept. In the stillness and silence of that May spring dawn a new
journey began to unfold…”
That was how Willow and I first
met.
Willow is the sweetest, most
gentle dog and my soul’s companion. We
have been separated only one night during her entire lifetime, we have traveled
together everywhere from Maine to Connecticut, to errands around town, walks
daily in the woods, through fields of joy, and over craggy rocks in Maine. Our connection so close we hear each others
thoughts; her constant vigil has saved me many times. All that lies between is a lifetime full of
endearing moments to fill a heart of with love, laughter, tears of sadness and
joy to last forever. I will miss you Willow Love, the dog whose soul came to
stay.
___________
Blogger's note: Unless I am able to figure out how to find more space for photos on this blog, this very well may be my last entry. I will start a new blog and connect it with this one. In a way it seems fitting to end with the birthday of this litter. I will keep you posted. MGW+9P
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