Morgan: Beagles, Black Dogs and the Ashes
14 August 2011
I finally feel able to voice to Jo how I felt when we disagreed over Morgan’s transition.
She explains that her biggest concern was that I was misreading or mishearing his communication and not accepting his desire to ascend. She felt he was suffering and it was time to assist his transition.
I do believe some people find it so hard to face death they go into denial and animals are held here longer than they wish. That’s why I regularly questioned Morgan on whether he was ready to ascend. Now I feel that, too often, he was continually asked, ‘Are you ready to go?’ Even then, I got to the point where I thought he might feel I was trying to get rid of him by checking on such a regular basis, so I made it clear I wished to be sure he knew it was his decision and that I loved every moment we were together.
I knew through communication he was struggling but very much wanted to continue and still valued living. Part of me did question, Doesn’t Jo trust me to do the right thing? Maybe she doesn’t believe in what I do after all?
Now she is able to explain that when she began spending more time at home, rather than just a snatched day or two here or there between jobs, she was able to tell how much Morgan loved life and was battling to enjoy every moment.
She asks, ‘Can you forgive me?’
Glancing over to Morgan’s photo, I hear him tell me, ‘Forgive her.’
Before she leaves to catch a train to Cardiff, I let her know it’s now in the past and I remind myself that we’re both learning from Morgan’s teachings.
We’re both on the Morgan train to enlightenment!
15 August
I write to Lynne and explain Morgan has given me an image of the new dog he is sending.
She replies, ‘It’s really odd that you should mention your new dog today. Morgan came through this morning and asked me to tell you to get ready for his apprentice, so I suspected that there was some animal in the pipeline. I think you just need to be on the watch for hints and clues.’
At 4:32 p.m. I feel the urge to look at the Mayhew Animal Home website. I am drawn to a link that will explain the adoption process ‘by clicking here’. Having gone through the process with Morgan, I don’t need to click, but something guides me to anyway. The image of a large black dog fills the screen; he is a German shepherd with an open, happy, intelligent face. Beneath his picture are the words: ‘At the Mayhew Animal Home we believe in finding the right dog for the right owner.’
Beyond doubt Morgan is confirming there is a black dog coming to me. A rescue dog. The right dog.
This is the fifth sign of the black dog.
Someone asks me, ‘Will you get another dog?’
I feel taken aback. It’s less than four weeks since Morgan transitioned. If my loss had been my father, would they have asked, ‘Are you going to get another father?’ Or comment, ‘You can always get another one,’ if my mother had just died? Morgan has been family to me.
I motivate myself to do something positive – I watch The Lion King on DVD and it leaves me feeling uplifted.
Tonight I dream of Morgan. I am with him and he is with me in such a real way that I am able to stroke the hair along his back and feel it completely. In fact it doesn’t feel like a dream. I can see his eyes and we are here together in a blissful moment of reunion. Maybe he has come to me or I have gone to him, but it doesn’t matter because I am with him and touching his body and stroking his hair is so real, as real as it was before his death. This is the best dream experience I have ever had and my heart is bursting with immeasurable joy.
17 August
Jo is now working at the Edinburgh Festival. It’s the first time she’s been away from home since Morgan transitioned and she found it hard to leave.
The creative team is in typical Edinburgh Festival accommodation: a large flat with five or six bedrooms. Jo and the set designer, lovely Tom, are first to arrive and have the pick of the rooms. Jo rings me in the evening to explain what happened.
As they looked around, she found herself walking into a large bedroom. The first thing that struck her was an enormous painting over the bed, which showed a French café front with tables but no people. But who should be standing at the café doorway? A black dog.
She explains, ‘He was a large dog and I think he was supposed to be a Labrador but because of the crude style of the painting his legs were just a bit too long and his body slim and not solid enough. Even the ears were wrong. He was a funny-looking thing, but I knew instantly that this was going to be my room and I was going to sleep below the black dog, who was looking out for me.’
When she showed Tom the painting and explained, as a dog-lover himself, he immediately agreed she could take that room.
It is the sixth sign of the black dog.
18 August
Tonight I have arranged to visit friends, Belinda and Laura and their delightful cats, Gypsy, Max, Beau and Herbert-George. I am missing Morgan badly and wonder about cancelling, but as I look at his photo on the mantelpiece I hear him tell me, ‘It will be good for you.’ So I get in the car and despite the torrential rain make my way over to Battersea.
My friends are kind and gentle and don’t ask questions. They allow me to just be. When I first walk into their kitchen, I notice straightaway a beautiful single pink rose. Over time I feel more relaxed and able to share with them some of the wonderful moments I’m experiencing with the black dog and pink roses.
When I get home I receive a text message from Laura with a photo of their pink rose:
‘Did you happen to notice this on our kitchen worktop tonight? Been there over a week. I didn’t have the heart to throw it out.’
Now we know why.
19 August
Jo is still away, but she has sent me a stunning rose bush – pink, of course. I was thinking about planting a pink rose for Morgan only yesterday.
The doorbell rings a second time and I unwrap a framed certificate stating that a star has been named in honour of Morgan in the constellation Canis Major. He’d be pleased it was Canis Major and not Canis Minor, because although a small-sized dog, he always identified with the larger breeds. My thoughtful friend Sandra D. has named the star Morgan master teacher canine friend. Perfect.
20 August
I am teaching Stage 2 of my ‘Empowering Animals’ course. At the end of the workshop my student friend Amanda and I head to Morgan’s pub. Immediately inside the door I come face to face with a gigantic pure black long-haired German shepherd identical to the one on the Mayhew Animal Home website. His name is Woofie, he’s a gentle giant and he tells me he doesn’t mind his name. A pure black Lab passes me. Then outside there is a pure black Staffie with a slightly grey muzzle sitting beside two older men with pints of beer. Three black dog signs within just a few minutes: seven, eight and nine.
The Staffie greets us enthusiastically. I fuss him and his guardian says to me, ‘Would you get one? There are lots at Battersea Dogs’ and Cats’ Home.’
For a moment I am speechless, rooted to the spot, looking the man in the eyes. After a pause to compose myself, I manage to voice calmly, ‘My dog died three weeks ago. He was from the Mayhew Animal Home.’
There is silence for a moment. But then the man offers words of sincere sympathy and I can see empathy is his eyes.
‘I think it’s too soon just now,’ I say. ‘When I do feel ready I will pick a mutt, a crossbreed.’
‘You’ll pick the right one,’ he says.
I smile and nod.
As we walk away, Amanda repeats his sentence: ‘You’ll pick the right one… If only he knew how right he is!’
It felt like reassurance from Morgan that I will know the right black dog when our paths cross. There’ll be no need to worry about picking the wrong one.
21 August
Grief is a bit like the sea, smooth and calm one moment, then crashing and overwhelming the next. Grief comes to me in waves.
1 September
Today becomes a breakthrough day. I manage to get myself to yoga: the first time in many months. It sounds such a meaningless thing, but really it is no small feat. I leave with a satisfying sense of accomplishment. I am moving forward and re-engaging with life. It is a baby step, maybe, but a step all the same.
Another sympathy card arrives. This one has the same image of tree trunks and bluebells that is on the biodegradable cardboard tube containing Morgan’s ashes. More synchronicity.
2 September
I return the phone call of a man whose dog died just two weeks ago. I can feel his pain and how he’s trying to hold it together. I ask the dog’s name and immediately see an image of a black-and-white collie. Without prompting, the man confirms the image in my mind. He says he’s not coping, but he is able to pick up the phone and ask for help, which is such a positive step. I talk to him and validate that his feelings are perfectly natural until he feels much better and is happy to end the call. He may contact me in the future to communicate with his dog.
Once off the phone I realize I am feeling stronger and will be able to return to work next week.
I try to wash Morgan’s bed today. I place the bottom cushion into the washing machine, but that’s as far as I get. I sniff the outside of the oval fleece and can still smell him. I remove the bottom cushion from the machine and return the bed to its home in my office.
13 October
‘Chasing Cars’ by Snow Patrol is playing. It’s one of our songs. I think back to when Morgan and I would lie on the grass together. These moments were heaven for us, literally heaven on Earth. We would lie there gazing into each other’s eyes and just forget the world. There was such a knowing and such a depth of love. I felt bathed in his grace.
1 November
Today I feel peace. The distress I have felt over Morgan’s physical absence is feeling bearable and I welcome it. As soon as time moved to 1/11/11 there was a shift. A numerologist would probably have something to say about this.
I feel I now have a sense of harmony and understanding. I no longer feel as though I am falling through the cracks. I have a deep acceptance of Morgan’s transition from physical form and I am encompassed by a feeling of unconditional love – Morgan’s love.
8 December
After much consideration I feel able to scatter Morgan’s ashes tomorrow. I have asked Morgan about it and he’s told me, ‘It will be good for you – both of you.’
Jo has been keen to scatter his ashes before the end of the year so 2012 can be ‘a fresh start’.
‘Would you like us to scatter them tomorrow?’ I asked Morgan.
‘Yes,’ he answered agreeably.
Nearly five months after his body was cremated I’ve reached a place where I can release his remains back to the Earth. I have moved into acceptance and feel able to let go.
9 December
The sun is full and bright and the sky is pale winter blue. Winter has arrived late, so the trees are still beautifully dressed in their autumnal shades of toffee, coffee and chocolate. We’re returning to the place where we had the most fun together, the place where Morgan ran with joy, a big beaming smile and twinkling eyes of pure happiness. We’re back at his common.
His ashes are still in the recycling tube with the forest design of trees and bluebells. We carry the cylinder in a day pack along with a flask of coffee, a garden fork and a heart-shaped seeded memorial to plant, which, if we’re lucky, will produce forget-me-nots in spring.
As we exit the car park, the first dog that crosses our path is a beagle. We begin by going for a walk along one of the routes we enjoyed together, remembering moments of Morgan’s earlier life when he kept us on the hop. We pass many golfers and numerous people out walking their dogs. The weather is beautiful, so this isn’t unexpected.
About 30 minutes later we reach the special tree. Ever since his stroke we’ve known this will be where we’ll scatter Morgan’s ashes. He has asked us to scatter them here and we agree this is ‘the special place’.
Jo gives the tree a hug, a kiss and, unbeknown to me, says silently, ‘Look after him.’
Round the other side, I touch the tree, express a feeling of love and gratitude and request, ‘Please look after him.’
The response comes, ‘I will look after him.’
This has always been a maternal tree to me – a tree with a strong feminine energy that is both loving and protective.
We take our time. We sit for a moment on the tree roots while we wait for golfers to pass. Then there is silence, so we take out the tube. Jo takes my hand and begins to scatter Morgan’s ashes. Shafts of sunlight illuminate the deep green grass to our side. Independently, we’ve both thought it would be nice to release the ashes around the tree in a circle and then in pockets within the tree trunk.
We take it in turns to scatter the ashes, which are white and grit-like. The ground is blanketed in the first of the autumn leaves and the ashes fall over them, leaving a dusting that looks like light snow.
Once we’ve both circled the tree, we put the remaining ashes in nooks and crannies of the trunk. We then take some long fallen twigs and gently brush the leaves so the ashes can fall through to the earth below.
The sun continues to shine, the birds are quiet and for the entire time it takes us to do this the vicinity of the tree and the surrounding areas, from which we can be viewed, remain completely empty. It is as though for these 10 minutes or so we are in our own vacuum of time, in a silent and sacred space. The golfers, joggers, walkers and dogs have just vanished. It is just the two of us, the Mother tree and our dear Morgan.
Once we’ve finished, we put the empty tube back into the day pack and within seconds a black dog runs up to us. Then a few seconds later there is another pure black dog, and then a minute after that another black dog: three black dogs, one after the other in quick succession. Signs 10, 11 and 12.
Immediately golfers appear, followed by more dog-walkers with different-coloured dogs. We take out our flask, sit on the tree roots again and drink coffee while watching golf balls flying past as we’re acknowledged by dog after dog after dog, all complete strangers to us. We plant the heart-shaped forget-me-not seeds, pat down the soil and then decide to walk back.
Approaching the car park, our eyes are drawn to a car. A dog is inside it, waiting for his guardian. When we get closer, we can see he is another beagle.
Morgan’s beagle presence greeted us as we arrived. Three black dogs greeted us, one straight after the other, immediately after scattering his ashes. Then, before we left, another beagle said goodbye.