Kali Squirrel-Story

That sucks.  I am looking at the clotted vomit on the corner of Elliot’s ballistic nylon bed, and imagining being shut in with it for however much time has elapsed between barfing, and the joyful morning ritual of Letting the Monster out of the Box. He comes bounding out, ecstatic tail and poky snout, and resumes barfing, this time in selected locations around the living room floor. 
 
It turns out that, even if you are Elliot, walking around with a deceased squirrel in your mouth is not necessarily good for your health, even if you do it with utmost ceremony. Even if the squirrel’s tail, in rigor mortis, arches just so, over your own furry snout.
 
Here is what happens: we are walking in the woods at the top of our home hill, Chloe barreling ahead in her slightly off-center, flop-ear lope, when suddenly I notice Elliot beside me, mouthing a large squirrel-corpse. He's doing what hunting dogs do: not clamping down, just holding. A wave of alarm rolls through me, but I know it’s not really worth listening to. I see the dog, the dead creature, and some unspecified relationship between them. I say, Elliot, I don’t know what happens now, and I'll bet you don’t, either. He looks up at me. The lower half of the squirrel dangles to one side, perfect little hands; the tail curves up jauntily, like the flourish on an especially audacious hunting hat. We walk on, suddenly a procession. Elliot paces exactly at my side, occasionally brushing my leg with either squirrel-head or squirrel-tail. He scans all around us. I am the Swiss guard, the badass freelancer whose protection means no other dogs/foxes/humans will snatch his prize. I am the goddess to whom the squirrel is offered, and he is my faithful vassal. Elliot is guiding me home, where we may feast on Squirrel, and sing praises to all that is good. Chloe walks sweep, making sure no enemies creep up behind us.
 
It is a very quiet walk, a funeral cortège. We’re moving together through the woods, performing not-knowing.
 
Some half-hearted early attempts to separate Elliot from the squirrel have yielded zippo. But, after about thirty minutes, the natural end of our walk is coming close, and no matter how committed I am to Elliot living out his dog telos, the ex-squirrel can’t come home with us. I guide us to a spot off the trail, ask both dogs to sit, ask Elliot to lay down, and then ask him to let go of the squirrel. Amazingly, he does. I ask him to back away, and he does. Now what? I cover the squirrel's body with a thick layer of leaves, telling her she was a beautiful beast, and wishing her safe travels. Then, in a clear-cutting voice, the funeral chants:
 
{for the squirrel}
Anicca vatha sankhara
Uppadavaya dhammino
Uppajjitva nirujjhanti
Tesan vupasamo sukho
All conditions, truly they are transient - of the nature to arise and cease. In their cessation, bliss.
 
 
{for Chloe, Elliot & I}
Aciram vata' yam kayo
pathavim adhisessati
chuddho apetavinnano
niratthamva kalingaram.
So too will this body be: flat on the ground, cold & lifeless, as useless as a rotten log.
 
I chant each of these verses three times. Then, sadhu, sadhu, sadhu (it is good), bow, and the dogs and I turn as one and walk away. Elliot gives my hand a little kiss, and I decide not to leash anybody on the way down the hill, past our neighbors' houses. Three big black beasts, striding in unison through the gathering November gray. A thrill runs through this ancient body, consisting of a village witch and her two dogs. On any day worth living, we make the journey from wild space to home, and back.
 
Elliot’s got the barfs, and that sucks, but not enough for me, or him, or anyone, to regret our squirrel-dance with What Is. He'll live. We'll sponge up the grody puddles, dry his bed in front of the pellet stove, and feed him white rice for a couple of meals.
 
Larissa shows me a picture of Kali, tongue sticking out, that she painted yesterday, while making space to see who might show up. A dead squirrel. A blue lady with a garland of squirrel-skulls. I'm with Her, Larissa snorts. And, oh yes, how true, how true. I'm with Her – the one who embodies what is absolutely workable in every situation. The one who brings tomatoes forth from bleak fall days, wrapped in the disasters of war. I’m with Her, the one who is open to the whole story, and doesn’t need it sanitized for her comfort. Kali’s carried every one of us, lifeless, in her mouth, over and over since time began, and she’s never once used the euphemisms “passed on,” “crossed over,” or “passed away.” How could she, with the weight of my torso hanging out one side of her mouth, and my bottom shining upwards from the other?
 
Kali knows it's true: death is white light, the child, re-joining the mother, white light. She also knows that there's a lot of meat involved – all the stages of meat-transfer from one body to many others. When Elliot sets the squirrel down, I see that underneath the plump back is a belly that’s already caved in, helped along by the steady pressure of the dog’s jaws. In that pressure, some kind of transfer happens, and in that transfer are the seeds of today’s fresh crop of dog-barfs.
 
That sucks, but not remotely as much as preventing the contact, breaking the chain, living panicked at the idea of being with Her. Yes, I walk with half-wild dogs who roll in crap, and occasionally see humans not as benevolent overlords, but full-bore vivisecting motherfuckers. Yes, Elliott has a mild case of the corpse-induced barfs, but he’s free, I love him, and he kissed my hand, after I blessed his dead squirrel by recognizing we’d all one day be just like her.
 
Bitter black diner coffee. I sit this morning, listening to another woman tell her friend about how her boyfriend is, or is not, getting used to her dog, Strider. There are sofa-questions, and cuddle-questions. The boyfriend seems to be doing OK, except when his primacy comes into question. It is disquieting to glimpse your woman as Kali with her hound, unless you’ve got the integrity to understand that you'd be in far worse shape if she weren’t. Drinking my coffee, I wish Strider, the woman, and her boyfriend their own beautiful don’t-know dance through the stages of love.