Remembering A Warrior

I'm one of many caretakers at Friendship Village International Retreat and Training Center, nestled on 82 beautiful rolling acres in southeastern Ohio. We have dogs and cats and horses and one Rhode Island Red hen and a guinea hen. Yesterday, one of our beloved dogs, a little white fluffy ball of energy with a heart larger than life, Max, died after being hit by a truck.

In the tradition of my Grandmother's people, there are no coincidences, and I know that there is work he's doing now "on the other side." Whenever we had vision quests, he would make the rounds of people out on the land, often sleeping just a little ways away so as not to disturb someone but definitely keeping watch. He was always there during ceremonies and celebrations, as well as our building weekends. Always the Companion, always the Guardian. Wherever the people (his family) were, he would come walking or running up to be part of it all. He was/is a small but mighty warrior.

I wrote this just after finding out:

Maxie just did give-away. Apparently he and Flash were on the road when a school bus and then a truck came by, and the truck hit him. Martha and Helen were up there when it happened. The woman who drove the truck came back. They said she was crying.

Mary Lois and I had gone into Caldwell just this morning and pulled in at Sunny Side on the way back. Maxie came out from his house behind the Admin Building, just before we were ready to leave.

He just stood there looking at the truck, like he always does, as though to say “Are you going? Can you stay?”

I walked back and nuzzled him, rubbed his underbelly like I always do. I kissed him and said we’d be back later. He walked up alongside the truck and then watched drive away as he always does.

I’m so glad I took that time with him. I’m so glad for every time I’ve stopped to nuzzle him and rub his belly and take his face into my hands and call him “my little buddy.”

I’m so glad it was a beautiful sunny fall day for his last day here, and that he was hanging out with Flash. It already feels like sunset, although that’s probably an hour or so away yet. Even the timing seems perfect - part of a much larger picture.

"It’s a good day to die" is what the Apache say when they greet their day in the morning. He’ll be on the land now always. His spirit will move with us to Arizona, and he’ll be here too.

I'll watch for him in the winds.

October 29, 2007

©2008 Deborah Adler. All rights reserved.

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