SUPPORTING OUR PETS THROUGH DEATH AND BEYOND
Gail Pope, Founder of BrightHaven and pioneer of the animal hospice movement, with Joey. ‘There is no greater gift in life than to be present during the hospice time as well as at the end of this beautiful journey, to share love with another, and most especially to do so with courage and grace.’
IN THE WEST MOST of us do our best not only to avoid dying but even to think about it. Our culture doesn’t encourage us to think about death. From the perspective of materialism, arguably still the dominant belief system because brain and consciousness are seen as synonymous, the end of one equals the end of the other. Contemplating death may have value in helping us appreciate the preciousness of life. But that aside, there is little to be gained from focusing on the process, the mechanics of dying.
From the perspective of that other, significant cultural influence, Christianity, death is closely followed by an ascent to heaven, descent to hell or perhaps a period in purgatory. These outcomes will not be changed by the way in which we die—although it’s interesting that Roman Catholicism encourages the use of anointing and viaticum—Latin for ‘with you on the way’, to prepare the soul for what lies ahead.
When it comes to our beloved pets, their spiritual fate remains a subject of even more confusion and conjecture. Popular psychics assure us that every pet crosses the Rainbow Bridge, where we’ll find them waiting when our time comes to pass. Materialists hold little truck with such sentiment. Meanwhile, the range of views in Christianity is striking, largely because of debate about how the word ‘soul’ should be interpreted: does it mean life force? Or does it refer to immortality? And can these both refer to all sentient beings or only to one species?
Mixed messages and general bewilderment, not to mention the fact that losing everyone and everything we hold dear is a gloomy prospect, makes it easier to simply put the whole subject out of mind. To focus on what is more immediately ahead of us. And when death rears its ugly head, to frame it as a medical, veterinary or undertaking matter, outsource it to the experts and move on swiftly.
Buddhism approaches the subject of dying from a radically different perspective. For the past 2500 years, across all its many and varied branches, the Buddhist view of the death process has remained consistent. It has also been an important subject of teaching, discussion and meditative preparation.
As far as Buddhists are concerned, death is not an ending, but rather a time of major—and even rather exciting—transition. Our state of mind at that time of transition can be significant in determining not only what happens in the immediate future. It may also provide the framework for our whole experience of reality for another lifetime. The implications of this view are significant for pet lovers because they suggest that the way in which our pets die, does matter; that we need not be helpless bystanders but can perform a vitally important role; and, significantly, for seven weeks after the physical death of our animal companion, we can continue to undertake valuable activities for our pet’s ultimate wellbeing.
To understand how all this may be the case, it is helpful to have an overview of the nature of consciousness, how our experience of reality arises and, in particular, the way in which we can influence our pets during and after the death process for the best possible outcome.
THE NATURE OF CONSCIOUSNESS
The view of Buddhism is that humans and animals are equal in possessing a mind that, as described earlier (see Chapter Three), may be defined as a formless continuum of clarity and cognition.
One of our biggest challenges, as Westerners, is letting go of the preconceptions we have about what exactly it is that may move through different lifetimes. So conditioned by both Christianity and, ironically, materialism, about this entity known as the soul, we have a tendency to think that our acquired personality, together with memories, likes and dislikes, the ego and all its kit and caboodle, are what Buddhists suggest is transferred wholesale from one body to the next.
This is not the Buddhist view.
Even we beginner meditators can come to recognise, after a while, that consciousness exists at different levels. Those aspects of personality and memories, which we may have come to believe are part of some concrete, independent entity called ‘me’, turn out to be nothing more than ideas. Notions that come and go, with no fixity at all. There is no self, apart from the concept of a self. And that concept is constantly being revised. Meat-eaters become vegans, left-wing students become conservative politicians, and the most hard-nosed capitalists become warm-hearted philanthropists, as we redefine our ideas about the world, and who we are.
These ideas may be likened to clouds passing through the sky. The clouds are the narrative chatter constantly arising, which changes depending on our mood, or the company we keep, or a thousand other things. With practice we can learn to acknowledge, accept and let go of this often needless, running commentary. Instead we focus on what endures: the sky through which it passes.
It is the sky-like mind which is the formless continuum of clarity and cognition. It is this subtle consciousness that Buddhists say moves from one life to the next. This is one of the reasons that Buddhism is sometimes called ‘the Middle Way’, because it suggests an option between eternalism on the one hand and nihilism on the other.
This is also how it is entirely possible that subtle consciousness could experience reality as a human at one time, and a dog or cat at another. We are not talking about the transfer of cognitive complexity, intelligence, a hard-drive of memory or other aspects of mental functioning. What remains after the body and brain have shut down at the end of a particular lifetime, whether animal or human, is merely a formless continuum of clarity and cognition. And it is propelled by the conditioning we have created, or karma.
We usually assume that reality is happening ‘out there’, independent of our body and mind, and that we observe and interact with it. But even at a neuroscientific level that model was abandoned in the last century.
To use the cognitive visual system as an example, it is now known that some 80 per cent of fibres in the part of the brain that processes visual imagery come from the cortex—which governs functions including memory—and only 20 per cent from the retinas. As Professor Gregory, one of the United Kingdom’s most eminent neuropsychologists, says: ‘We carry in our heads predictive hypotheses of the external world of objects and of ourselves. These brain-based hypotheses of perceptions are our most immediate reality. But they entail many stages of physiological signalling and complicated cognitive computing so experience is but indirectly related to external reality [my italics].’
Neuroscience shows that perceptions may be up to 90 per cent memory and, as Professor Gregory puts it: ‘This startling notion that perception is projecting brain-hypotheses outwards into the physical world—endowing the world with colour and sound and meaning—has surprising implications.’1
It is not only neuroscientists who reveal that our experience of reality is the opposite of what we might expect. Quantum scientists have done so too. As Austrian physicist, Erwin Schrödinger, put it: ‘Every man’s world picture is and always remains a construct of his mind and cannot be proved to have any other existence.’2
Two and a half thousand years before Erwin Schrödinger and quantum science, Buddha said the same thing even more simply: ‘The objective world arises from the mind itself.’ I prefer Buddha’s version, because he doesn’t specify whether the mind belongs to a man, a woman, a dog or a parakeet!
The idea that we create our own sense of reality is worthy of thought and reflection. If our world arises from our mind, we can change the world by changing our mind. Those things that we choose to pay attention to, to believe in, to focus energy on, become our reality. They may not be others’ reality. We may walk down the same street as other beings, even share the same bed as them, but the way that flowers smell, buildings look, noises sound and others seem is patently different for each one of us, in ways which may be subtly nuanced, or dramatically different.
The reality we experience is propelled by the causes we have created. And as discussed in Chapter Seven, on guiding our pets towards a positive future, if our goal is to help them experience the most positive reality possible, we should cultivate the habit of recollecting bodhichitta, practising pure, great love and pure, great compassion, and saying mantras to connect or resonate with beings more enlightened than ourselves. The more habitual, instinctive or automatic this becomes, the better.
This is important not only in life, but especially during the death process, which I will outline, before suggesting the practical steps we can take to best help our pet make a peaceful and positive transition.
THE PROCESS OF DYING
Just as our experiences of life are unique to each one of us, death is too. Each one of us—whether we are human, dog, lamb or other being—experiences the reality of our physical dissolution somewhat differently.
Tibetan Buddhism provides a description of the death process for humans, comprising four stages of physical dissolution, followed by four stages of mental dissolution, taking us to the most subtle state of experience, known as the clear light of death. As Buddhists, we rehearse this experience on a regular basis. That said, it’s important to emphasise that this is an indicative model, and each of us will experience dying in our own way.
It’s not unusual for a dying person to report the subjective experience that accompanies the earlier stages of physical dissolution. For example, the first stage may be experienced as being like a television reception going blurry, or the mirage effect you see when driving along the road during a very hot summer. This may be accompanied by a strong feeling of sinking, and the person may ask to be propped up as they feel they are being drawn downwards, or are under pressure from a heavy weight. The second stage is like being in a room filled with smoke, and a person may feel extremely thirsty, as though everything inside them is drying up. They may feel suffocated, and irritated by the smoke-like appearances, and ask for water. Those who care for the dying may be familiar with reported experiences like these—for example, comments about how there must be a fire somewhere. The third stage appears like sparks from a fire, or a swarm of fireflies. By the time we get to the fourth stage, the image of a single, flickering flame, physical death is almost complete.
A friend of mine who was the victim of a landmine blast told me about being airlifted to hospital soon after the explosion. Medics feared he may lose his life. He told me that as he lay on a stretcher in a helicopter, he had a very clear memory of a candle flame gusting in the wind. He knew that if the flame blew out, he would die. He tried his best to will it to keep burning.
Whether or not our pets experience these exact same subjective experiences, we don’t know. What we do know is that, at the end of stage four, when physical dissolution is complete, whether we are cat, dog or human, we are defined as dead in Western terms. Our hearts have stopped beating. Our brain is no longer functioning. We are now, medically speaking, a corpse.
From a Buddhist perspective, however, while physical dissolution has occurred, the four stages of mental dissolution are still to happen. The formless continuum of clarity and cognition remains in our body, experiencing increasingly subtle levels of consciousness—a process that can take from a few moments to much longer, until we arrive at the stage known as the clear light of death.
From the outside, it may seem that nothing is happening. The person, or our beloved pet, has died. Minutes may have passed. The main event appears to be over.
For the being who is moving on from this lifetime, however, mental dissolution leads to the most important time of all. The thoughts, feelings and sensations that arise at this time have the capability not only to shape our experience of reality for that particular moment. When accompanied by the wish for embodiment, they propel us into an intermediary, bardo form. And from there, to a whole new lifetime of this reality.
Used to experiencing ourselves as flesh and blood beings, whatever species we belong to, when encountering our most subtle mental states, we may have a sense of personal annihilation. Where am ‘I’? What’s happened to ‘me’? I want to ‘be’! This grasping for a self, together with whatever other thoughts may be arising in our mind, is what propels us into the bardo state—the one that exists between the lifetime that has just ended, and the one that is to come.
This is why it is all-important to ensure that our loved ones, animal or human, die in the most peaceful way possible, and that they are given the time they need to make the transition before we tamper with their bodies. Their very subtle minds may be present for much longer than we think.
THROUGH THE BARDO STATE TO REBIRTH
The bardo state may be likened to a dream. In dreams we can see, taste, touch and do everything we can in normal wakefulness, even though we are not doing so physically. Our feelings are often greatly heightened. In fact, what we experience when dreaming may be very much more vivid and dramatic than anything that happens to us when awake. And all that we experience, positive or negative, is a projection of our mind.
In the bardo state we take the subtle form of the being we will next be born as—human or animal—and we are constantly seeking the opportunity for rebirth. At this time nothing is certain. The karma that links us to potential parents may be strong, but is conception possible? What about others who have karmic links to those same beings?
It is said that in the bardo state, we only need to think about a place, and we are there, much like in a lucid dream. If we think about our previous home, we are present. In some Buddhist cultures, for seven weeks after the death of a person, their belongings are left ready for use and their place at the dining table is set, so that if they were to observe what is happening as bardo beings, they would not feel forgotten or excluded. For the sake of leaving out a few familiar food bowls, this is useful advice for pet lovers too.
The minds of bardo beings can also be influenced by those with whom they have recently had close karmic bonds. Loved ones can practise generosity or make donations of various kinds, offering the virtue for the benefit of those who have passed on, thereby influencing what happens to their mind—and their future—in the bardo state. This is another key instruction for pet lovers.
Our time in bardo can last from just moments up to seven weeks. We may find rebirth very easily, or it could take a while. Each week, on the anniversary of the day of our death, the subtle form of the bardo being undergoes a form of mini-death, or reboot, and the being may arise with a different subtle form. So, the possibility of our rebirth may change from, say, a cat to a human, or vice versa. This is highly significant. Depending on what throwing karma or finishing karma arises, the kind of reality we may broadly experience, potentially for many decades, can be affected by what happens at this critical time. In the bardo state, as in life, all depends on the combination of what is arising in our mind, what influences we are experiencing and what possibilities are available to us.
By the 49th day after death, every bardo being will definitely have found an opportunity for rebirth. Having entered a fertilised egg, the framework for our experience of reality for another lifetime is set.
PUTTING OUR PETS FIRST
Having provided a brief overview of the death process, what are the main implications for us when taking care of our dying pet?
First and foremost is the need to emphasise that what we are going through and what our pet is going through are two entirely separate experiences. This may seem obvious, but there’s often a very real risk of confusing our own thoughts and feelings for those of our pet.
Being told that our pet is dying is traumatic, even if the kindly intended euphemisms used by vets don’t always express what’s happening quite so bluntly. It’s natural to feel upset at the prospect of losing our dearly loved friend, or anxious that they may be in pain.
But if we accept that our pet really does have consciousness, and that their mind will move on from this experience to another, then we recognise that our pets’ thoughts and feelings must come first. We will still be living in a few weeks or months, but they won’t. We have a limited period in which to be a positive influence—one that may have a huge impact on our pet’s future experience. During that time they certainly won’t benefit from being looked after by a neurotic, weepy human. To whatever extent they may be aware that they will soon pass on, their state of mind is best helped if we remain as supportive, calm and loving as possible. Our focus must be not on our own emotions, but on our pets’ wellbeing.
BrightHaven is a holistic animal sanctuary, hospice, rescue and education centre in Santa Rosa, California, offering a home to hundreds of older pets, including those who are sick and disabled. Over the years, Gail and Richard Pope, who established BrightHaven, have begun to educate pet lovers—through books, workshops and online programs—on how best to support pets through their time of transition.
Their booklet, ‘Soar, My Butterfly: The Animal Dying Experience’ provides unique information on what to expect, in terms of behavioural and physical changes a few months before death, a few weeks before death, and in the immediate approach and experience of the death process. It is an invaluable resource.
One to three months before death, our pets may withdraw, spending more time alone, sleeping for longer or being more affectionate. In the immediate weeks before death they may also sometimes be disorientated or agitated.
Managing a pet’s pain should be our priority as this life draws to a close. Because pets can’t speak or overtly show they are in pain, we need to observe them closely and also heed our intuition. If our pet starts behaving in an uncharacteristic manner—for example, holding themselves differently or reeling away from us for no apparent reason—we need to visit the vet urgently. We also need to be aware of the wide range of available holistic treatments that can assist in palliative care.
Apart from pain management and helping ensure our pets are physically comfortable during this time, the best assistance we can give our pet is to spend time meditating with them, and showing our love and affection as we recite mantras. Their association of mantras and meditation with positive mental experiences is an incredibly powerful and positive one. If we have already established this in everyday life, we have helped create a habit, a norm, of inestimable benefit to their future wellbeing.
Gail Pope of BrightHaven talks about the need to ‘reverse’ the grieving process, by which she means that instead of thinking and talking about our shared experiences with our animal companions after they have died, we should do so in their final days, when we have accepted that their death is inevitable. Now is the moment to tell them how much we love them, and how much we will miss their physical presence. This is the time to relive memories, to laugh and to cry; as we care for our beloved friend during their final time on earth, we are creating a bond that will never be forgotten.
Says Gail:
We know that animals come to us to teach us life lessons and we’ve learned that many of these lessons become clearly apparent in their final days. By savouring death in all its wisdom, we can learn so much about living. It is in the last moments of life that small miracles can happen, thereby changing lives forever. A paw raised to your cheek by one who has not moved for days; a lick of your hand from one who appears to have faded from the physical world; these are sacred vignettes that illuminate the truly important aspects of living life well, all the way to its end.
EUTHANASIA
As we approach the time of transition, euthanasia is a subject that may arise. From the Greek term for ‘good death’, the original purpose of euthanasia is to spare beings needless pain, especially once death becomes a certainty.
It is probably fair to say that euthanasia is no longer the way that a small minority of pets die. It has moved firmly mainstream. It is now quite common to hear both pet lovers and vets talk not so much about ‘if’ a pet may need to be put to sleep as ‘when’.
This is not an approach that Buddhism encourages.
When I was mulling over the idea of this book, one of my first thoughts was: ‘I’m going to have to deal with euthanasia and there will be people who don’t like the Buddhist view on this.’ I also felt a certain dissonance given that during the course of my life I have chosen to euthanise several of my own pets.
Let’s begin at a starting point most of us would agree with: euthanasia should never be used as a way of getting rid of unwanted pets. We’ve all heard stories of perfectly healthy, if sometimes elderly, pets being put down because of changes in the family, or owners who simply couldn’t be bothered to take care of them, or even try to find them new homes.
Things become more complicated when we know our pet is suffering and the vet has told us, categorically, that they are dying and suggested the best option is to put them to sleep.
A friend of mine, Hazel, found herself in exactly this situation with a dog who had become seriously ill and hadn’t had a drink of water for three days. After returning home from that harrowing news at the vet, instead of going to bed as usual, that night she chose to sleep on the floor next to her beloved companion. In her heart she tried to send out the message to her dog: ‘Whatever you want, I’m here for you. Please tell me. I’m listening.’
In the middle of the night, she felt her dog stir before getting up, making her way to the water bowl, and having a long drink. This was a major breakthrough given the dog’s previous behaviour. Hazel had the strong sense that her dog wasn’t ready to go. The following morning, she took her to a naturopath who provided a range of holistic therapies. In the days that followed, the dog responded to the treatment, before returning to near normal health. All that happened over a year ago and her dog is still thriving, active and enjoying life.
Readers have sent me many other stories of pets who were due to be euthanised, even to the point of visits to the vet for the final procedure, when they have had the feeling ‘my pet isn’t ready to go’. Being open to intuition, willing to listen to the still, small voice, has been the difference between proceeding down a course from which there is no return, and taking a different course, allowing their pets more precious months, even years, of life.
Can we always be really sure that death is certain, even when the vet tells us that it is? Vets are certainly knowledgeable, and often highly experienced, compassionate and wise. But they are not clairvoyant. Surprise recoveries are possible, as are unexpected rallies. When we euthanise a pet, we are stopping nature in its tracks, halting any possibility that our pet may, in fact, have more quality time to live.
We also need to be open about the awkward question: how much am I really doing this for my pet, and how much for me? If my pet is free from pain, am I really doing this to help them avoid suffering, or so that I don’t have to deal with the pain of watching my loved one dying? Who am I trying to protect from trauma—my pet, or myself?
Animal hospice is defined as ‘care for animals, focused on the patient’s and family’s needs; on living life as fully as possible until the time of death—with or without intervention; and on attaining a degree of preparation for death’.3 A growing number of animal hospice practitioners advocate for natural death to be the chosen route, with euthanasia only to be considered in situations where pain control, daily care, comfort or funding cannot be maintained. At BrightHaven, for example, the last euthanasia was 185 deaths ago. But in the words of Gail Pope: ‘I have cared for more than 600 animals at the end of their lives since 1990 and they have taught me more than I can ever say about life and love and the circle of life … I have learned that there is no greater gift in life than to be present during the hospice time as well as at the end of this beautiful journey, to share love with another, and most especially to do so with courage and grace.’
Gail says that, over and over again, animals continue to show us not to project our own ideas onto what is, or may be, happening to them. We cannot predict death and, frequently, just as death is nigh, the animal recovers for a day, a week, months or longer.
These are all good lessons to simply accept what is, to live in and for the moment, to offer whatever palliative support is available and to meditate for the highest good of our pet—whether that means peaceful death, or a recovery to continued life.
The reason that Buddhist teachers oppose euthanasia also has to do with the karmic implications for our pet. If we accept the death process outlined earlier, it’s clear to see that how we transition from this lifetime to the next is subject to many variables—our state of mind and the karma that arises being the main ones. Natural dying better enables our pet to come to terms with what is happening and mentally prepare for it.
Animals know when death is happening and their behaviour may change, sometimes quite dramatically. I have received stories from readers telling me how pets have approached a dying human with a perhaps uncharacteristic and explicit expression of compassion and affection. For example, one person’s small dog, who never ventured up to her bedroom, as the staircase was of the open variety and the dog risked a serious fall, made his ascent for the first—and only—time to be with her on the night that turned out to be her last.
It is also the case that cats and dogs will often remain close to one another, in some cases forming a circle around a dying member of the pride of their family for hours, days or even weeks before their death. ‘Anam Cara’ is a Celtic phrase for ‘soul friend’ and Gail Pope uses it as a fitting title for the death midwife who is present at this end-of-life transition, in the same way that the birth midwife seeks to ease the start-of-life transition. Sometimes an animal will remain after death for a long period of time, and other animals may come to pay their respects. This is as true of animals in the wild as of our pets: a very well-watched YouTube video shows how elephants travelled for many kilometres to pay their final respects after ‘elephant whisperer’ Lawrence Anthony died in Southern Africa. The simple truth may be that our pets understand the death process on a level we humans seem to have forgotten. Abruptly terminating that process may be something for which they are unprepared.
What is the karmic impact of our pet dying prematurely—from their side—without understanding the enormity of what’s happening? How will they cope with an abrupt physical and mental dissolution without notice? We are hardly helping them make the best of this critical transition.
There are further implications to do with suffering. If it is our pet’s karma to experience pain, we can help with pain management. But what if we cut short that experience through euthanasia? Instead of pain mitigated by pain-killers, perhaps our loved one will have to experience it without? Surely that’s the last thing we would wish on them? What will a mind in pain experience in the bardo and beyond?
Lamas warn us that we have no idea about the karmic implications of what we do, when we decide on euthanasia. Even if we are motivated by the very best of intentions, we are entirely ignorant of the karmic repercussions. It is very much better if we can help our pet transition via the natural death process.
Given the traditional Buddhist view of euthanasia, I have never heard lamas discuss the process itself. My personal experience, however, is that not all euthanasia is the same. In fact, the options available could not be more starkly different. The fully conscious cat on the table of the vet clinic, amid the bright lights and heightened tensions, having their paw shaved and a needle inserted into a vein, is a very different state of affairs from the sedated cat lying in a favourite spot at home, surrounded by loved ones when the procedure occurs.
The pressures of time and money are such that many vets may offer euthanasia only at their clinic. In such circumstances there is little opportunity for a sedative to be administered, or for a loving and meaningful goodbye. This seems a coldly sterile, dislocated and inappropriate final act by which to end one of the most intimate and precious relationships of our lives. And from our pet’s perspective, certainly not the one they would wish.
Some vets will offer a euthanasia service at home; there are mobile vets who offer exactly this. They offer the chance to sedate a pet with a painless injection, and will leave the room, offering us the opportunity to be with our pet in a familiar environment, and to take our time saying our goodbyes, whispering mantras and communicating our gratitude and love, heart to heart. By the time we are ready, our pet is sedated and the final act of euthanasia can be performed in a gentler way.
WHAT TO DO AROUND THE TIME OF DEATH?
How can we be of greatest benefit to our pet at the time of their death?
Keeping them pain-free and comfortable: Focusing on their spiritual needs is our most important priority. This transition is all about them. We can do our best to ensure they are in as little pain, and are as physically comfortable, as possible. We can also try to rein in our own emotions, creating a safe, loving atmosphere and the most peaceful environment we can.
Meditating for a calm transition: Enabling our pet to make their transition in a calm state of mind is one of the greatest services we can offer them. If you are a Buddhist, and have formed the habit of repeating Chenrezig mantras in the presence of your pet (Om mani padme hum), now is a very good time to continue the practice.
Alternatively, you may wish to practise the taking and giving meditation provided in the previous chapter or simply offer your compassionate presence. You should not underestimate the power of what you are doing at this critical time in your pet’s transition.
Being supportive during the vital period after death: Remember that even after the physical death of your pet, their subtle mind may still be present in their body. Don’t move them. Instead, recognise that the mind of your pet is still in a most vital part of transition and that because of your relationship, you can exert an extremely beneficial influence as they enter the bardo state.
Continuing to be present for your pet, for at least an hour or two after the time of death, is most useful. If, for some reason, you can no longer be physically present with them, then continuing to meditate on their behalf afterwards, and dedicating whatever merit from your practice for their wellbeing, can be of immeasurable benefit.
At BrightHaven, pets are given a full three days for their life energy to depart, during which they are prepared in a beautiful bed or basket, surrounded by favourite toys, as well as candles, flowers and greenery. A traditional ceremonial Tibetan Buddhist prayer scarf completes the scene along with any other mementos of the life lived. During this time, friends, family and volunteers visit to pay their respects, meditate, offer prayers and bid the loved one farewell for one last time.
HOW TO BE OF SERVICE IN THE SEVEN WEEKS AFTER DEATH
In the immediate aftermath of our pet’s death we may have a feeling of release, relief, of shifting energy, perhaps even of freedom as our pet moves on from an aged or sick body. Or we may simply be bereft at the loss of our beloved companion. Whatever our emotions, what’s important is to recognise that while life has changed for us, it has changed in an even more dramatic and potentially challenging way for our pet, and it is within our power to continue to help them.
MEDITATING AND MANTRAS ON THEIR BEHALF
In the bardo state, your pet may still have some awareness of you, and perhaps other family members, irrespective of where you are physically. They can still be positively influenced by your practice of meditation and mantra recitation, particularly if you dedicate any virtue arising from the practice for their benefit. For seven weeks after the passing of your pet, you are still able to help them, and should do so to whatever extent you are able. As Tulku Thondup says in his book, Peaceful Death, Joyful Rebirth, ‘Beings in the bardo, in particular, are very receptive to meditation and prayers, as they live in a world of thought.’4 He also suggests: ‘Meditation is a more powerful way to help these beings than our usual discursive thoughts and feelings because it comes from a deeper, more peaceful level in our mind.’5
While meditation is powerful, it needn’t be the only time we can be of service. You don’t have to wait until you are sitting on your meditation cushion, in a quiet room, to recite mantras. You can do so, under your breath, as you sit in the car, go to the gym, take a walk and in everyday life. Even in a room full of people, you can recite mantras mentally, without needing to move your lips.
Given that ‘mini-death’ is experienced by a being in bardo every seven days, this is a particularly vital time to focus your attention and practice on your loved one—by the way, this applies to all beings, human and animal. You may wish to mark a calendar with the day that your companion died, and on the weekly anniversary of that day, for seven weeks, redouble your meditation or recitation activities for their benefit. This is particularly the case on Day 49, which you may regard as your last chance to be of support to the one who has passed, before they move on into their next life—and you move on with yours.
A suggested dedication is as follows:
By this practice of the meditation/virtue/generosity
May NAME OF PET, and all beings, quickly enjoy higher rebirth.
Meet the perfect teacher, and attain enlightenment,
For the benefit of all beings without exception.
MAKING OFFERINGS ON THEIR BEHALF
Apart from meditation and Dharma practice, Buddhism encourages us to practise generosity, to whatever extent we are able, and dedicate the virtue to the benefit of the being in bardo state. You don’t have to be rich to be generous. A poignant photograph I saw on social media showed a poor woman making flat bread to feed her child on a gas stove, at the side of a dusty road. In the image she is shown breaking off a small piece to feed a nearby bird.
You may feed ducks, birds or other animals. You may send a donation, or a series of donations to wildlife or other charities. You may drop a few coins in a charity collector’s tin. When you do so, recollect your pet, and your bodhichitta motivation, and dedicate the virtue for their benefit.
Once again, it is useful to time this on the daily anniversary of your pet’s passing, when their bardo state is in possible transition, and your positive influence can have greatest impact.
KEEPING THE PET BOWLS OUT
At any time in the bardo, our pets’ minds may turn to their old home, and they may perceive what is happening there. To avoid creating possible distress for them, it’s best to keep the landmarks of their old life unchanged, as though they may come back to us at any moment.
It is kind to keep your pet’s feeding bowls, favourite rugs or basket in the usual place, as much as you are able. If the sight of these now unused items upsets you, use this as a prompt to say some mantras, verbally or mentally, and dedicate them for the benefit of your pet. Think of them as prompts to help keep the focus of your mind on the welfare of your pet, as they move through the bardo. And remember: this is all about them.
THE PRACTICAL AND SPIRITUAL BENEFITS OF BUDDHIST PRACTICES
This approach to helping our pets through the death process and the bardo stage has a number of profound benefits. Having outlined the process, and recommended actions you can take, the focus of this chapter has been on how we can best help our animal companions through the most important transition of their lives.
From a Buddhist perspective, there is no greater gift we can offer our pet than to do whatever we can to help them maintain a peaceful state of mind during the death process, knowing that they are surrounded by love and positivity, and by helping direct their journey through the bardo using the power of mantra, meditation and other offerings. Of course we live in a messy world, where things seldom go exactly as we would like. But it is useful to know what we are setting out to achieve.
What if you have doubts about the Buddhist presentation of death, bardo and rebirth? If you are unfamiliar with some of these concepts, it is understandable that, at the very least, you need time to reflect on them.
It’s important always to remember that you don’t have to believe anything. All you need is an open mind. Unless you are convinced by a different model of the death process, here, at least, is something useful that you can work with. What’s more, the advantages of the practices outlined go well beyond benefiting our pets alone.
One of the most debilitating aspects of losing a loved one is the way that our thoughts turn to ourselves. How upset I am to lose this beautiful being. How bereft and lonely I am that they are gone. How my relationship with them was irreplaceable. The common element in all these understandable, natural but painful thoughts is ‘me’.
By using mental habits and practices that have our pet as the focus of our thoughts, we shift our focus. When we are thinking about the wellbeing of someone else, we are, by necessity, not thinking about ourselves. And that pragmatic shift of focus means that we suffer less.
‘Suffer’ comes from a Latin root meaning ‘to bear’ or ‘to carry’. When we carry around our grief, by continually thinking about our own personal loss, we extend and magnify our pain. But if we can replace those thoughts with different, other-centric thoughts, not only are we better able to help our pet, we will also recover our own peace of mind faster and easier.
A further benefit of the Buddhist approach to death is that the seven-week bardo period gives us a fixed period of time during which to focus our energies on the mind stream of our departed pet. By the 49th day, our companion will definitely have moved on. They will have a new life, a new reality. And that gives us permission to move on with our own lives too.
Of course it’s natural to hearken back to the way things were. To wish for one more cuddle. One more walk through the woods. One more evening of contentment at the fireside. It’s entirely normal for us to wish this and to hold onto cherished memories.
But by Day 49, the mind of our companion, that formless continuum of clarity and cognition, is experiencing a different reality—and so are we. We are richer for having known them, and wiser for having accompanied them through the most important transition of their lives.
It is time for both of us to embark on adventures new.
THE DEATH PROCESS IN BUDDHISM: WHERE DOES IT COME FROM?
Where does Buddhism’s very detailed outline of the death process come from, and why should we give it any credence?
One of the great advantages of being part of a living tradition is that we not only have access to documented outlines, which have been composed, debated and refined over millennia, we also live alongside an unbroken chain of yogis, or meditation masters, who have devoted themselves to the exploration of consciousness.
Most of us would be doing extremely well to achieve level five of the established nine levels of meditative concentration. Meditation masters have not only achieved level nine—calm abiding—they have also explored non-conceptual states in which increasingly subtle levels of consciousness can be experienced directly. These increasingly subtle levels of consciousness are what we will all go through when we die.
Can advanced yogis undergo a similitude of physical death right up to the experience of clear light as part of their meditation? Yes. And many other interesting things besides. It is the shared experience of these yogis that provides the basis of our understanding of the death process. It is also their ability to directly perceive the causality of karma from one lifetime to another, including the death process, that underpins our confidence in the traditional teachings.
For a detailed description of the death, bardo and rebirth, I recommend Peaceful Death, Joyful Rebirth by Tulku Thondup, a lucid treasury of inestimable value.