SPIRIT THREADS

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The morning we were leaving for Boston, we took the dogs out for their early morning walk. We were trying so hard to stay within the boundaries of an ordinary day while feeling the weight of something so hard looming before us. Although we walked in a normal fashion, following the same routes and spots, neither of us spoke. It was like we were afraid that if either of us uttered even a single word, the other might just crack. The dogs completed their business and we headed home. We were nearing the end of our walk, but there had been no fox in sight. I was uneasy about the trip, and felt burdened by the magnitude of what we were facing. I desperately looked for the fox. If she would only emerge from where she lived, it would somehow provide a salve for my heartache and give me something to help fight the battle ahead. Within that pleading from deep inside came a rustle of noise to my left. And there she was, emerging from a neighbor’s side yard. She trotted along at a steady pace, fully aware she was heading towards us. But as she approached the sidewalk, she suddenly stopped. My dogs leaped in the air snarling and barking. But that fox looked up at us and actually sat. She did not run or scurry away, snarl or bark. She just sat, back erect and eyes blinking, and then wrapped her thick, full tail around her body. ----

My dogs stopped barking and Craig and I stood still. Then she bowed her head down. I looked at my husband and he at me. Not sure what to do, I whispered, “Let’s move on home.” We commanded the dogs to “go” and they continued on their walk in silence. All four of us walked past the bowing fox and onto the road that led to our driveway. I peered over my left shoulder and watched her cross the road in silence. “What the hell was that?” I questioned. “I don’t know, Jude, but I swear she let us pass,” Craig responded with astonishment in his voice. “I can’t believe she stopped and let us pass by her. She sat and bowed her head!” I said. “I don’t know what she is thinking, but I swear she is not afraid of the dogs,” Craig added. We continued our conversation as we entered into the house and unleashed the dogs. “I have heard that foxes are very smart and know exactly how far they can go without getting caught or attacked. I read that a fox can actually run in front of a chained dog, knowing how far away they have to be so the dog can’t get them. Maybe she knows that we won’t let the dogs loose and that we are the alpha of the pack. That we control them both.” Craig nodded in agreement, “One thing is for sure, she definitely thinks she is part of our pack.” That was a turning point for me. I knew in that instance she was not stalking us, but rather co-existing with us. It was clear that she intuitively knew her limits and that the dogs were included in those limits. Somehow, she trusted us enough to know we would hold on to those dogs and not let them attack her and that we would not harm her. Within that revelation of that day, I knew I could trust her. That was the day I named her. I chose her name after one of my favorite childhood story books, The Tales of Reddy Fox by Thornton W. Burgess. Reddy would be her name. Although Reddy in the story book had a sly personality, I found my Reddy to be more astute.

Somehow her appearance and display of reverence comforted me. To have this fox trust that we would not harm her and allow us to simply pass went against all logic. It was almost supernatural. I felt at peace with our impending day and what was to follow. It almost made me feel like I had to trust in God for what was meant to be and give my heavy heart some peace. We had allowed the rusty-red thread to enter into the tapestry fold and meld. The weave was about to take hold and the picture would be fantastic.

THREADS

Spiritually charged to cling to her higher power and inwardly listening to the call of her childhood dream, Judith heeds this beckoning within and follows an unknown path of sharing her story of Threads. Each story contains a life lesson represented by a specific thread. Within this memoir unfolds a journey of self discovery and an idea that has forever changed the way she perceives her life…

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Many years ago, my family adopted a 5-month-old golden retriever puppy. He was the runt of his litter, and we were told had been returned three times because his previous owners said he was “not right.” Physically, he was a beautiful puppy with soft amber colored fur and deep brown eyes. He came by the name of Charlie, but my family felt it did not fit him, so we renamed him Casey.

From the minute I laid eyes on him alone in a dog pen, it was kismet. He would come to the side of the dog pen and instead of greeting your hand head first, he would sit, his back facing you and turn his head. He drank from his water bottle the same way, backward. I immediately understood him and embraced all of his nuances with an appreciation of the level of special that he was. Casey and I were inseparable and it became very evident that he hated to be apart from me.

Truth be told, he was an awkward dog. My neighbor, an English woman with a comical but pragmatic demeanor, would say in her thick English accent, “Judy, Casey is not normal.”

And I couldn’t disagree. He had an old soul persona and was distinctly un-doglike. He did not bark or play catch. He loved his stuffed toys, but never chewed them. Rather, he would gently carry them in his mouth and place them carefully where he lay. He never engaged other dogs, walked off leash from day one, and I became the center of his universe. He loved our family, every member, but only I could walk him on a leash. He ate quietly and rarely begged, except for holidays when Grandpa would sneak him goodies under the table. Casey was completely and utterly the perfect dog, aside from the fact he had terrible skin allergies. He required great care and I tended to his suffering with special diets, medicines, and holistic bath treatments.

Through the years we went, side by side. We walked every Sunday morning, regardless of the weather, in a local state forest park with Rebecca, a dear friend of mine, and her black lab mix, Tasha. Tasha, a vibrant and energetic dog, connected with Casey and they became great friends. They would forage through the trails, Tasha in the lead, running leaps and bounds ahead. Casey would always get about twenty feet away and suddenly look back to see where I was. If I was not near, he would wait or come running back to me. I would send him back onto the path ahead, encouraging him to go have fun and blaze a trail. But Casey would not go any farther than twenty feet.

As the years went by, it got to a point that Casey would hold onto the edge of my sleeve whenever we walked. He would hold the fabric gently between his teeth as if to say, “I will always know where you are if I keep your sleeve in my mouth.” I would return home with my right sleeve saturated with saliva, but never once torn…….