The Nose Knows (33 page)

As we sat on our log, Mom stroked my body. Her touch felt good. It was light and happy. All of us had noticed that over the past few weeks everything about her had gotten lighter and happier. To the world, Mom usually appeared to be upbeat and positive. Even after the hostage episode, she still kept her words positive. She hadn’t whined or complained. But Dad used to say she’d put up walls. He said one wall kept her negative emotions locked inside and another wall kept the things she feared from getting too close.

I had gotten used to her that way. I’d forgotten how she’d been before. Then when Dad died, well, I just assumed that she’d always be that way.

But I was wrong. She’d changed. She was happier. The walls were getting thinner; and in fact I’d recently seen some wonderful cracks develop.

Mom started to hum. Then she started to talk. “You know, Spunk, I think we’re really beginning to do Theodore some good. No doubt, the meds certainly helped stabilize him, but the changes I’m seeing go beyond that. But then, you and Fearless are right there for each session sitting on his lap so you know what I’m talking about, don’t you?”

I doubt Mom expected me to answer her, but I did anyway. One lick and a few wags confirmed that I certainly agreed. Years of anger and hurt had led Theodore to create some very thick walls and a rough exterior. He wasn’t willing to risk anyone else getting the upper hand. At first he seemed determined not to trust Mom.

For the first two weeks, except for “Uh-hunh,” “Nope,” or “Yup,” Theodore didn’t say much at all. However, Mom was determined to get him to open up, if only a smidgen. She had rescued enough scared critters in her life to know the symptoms of fear. If Theodore had been a dog, his tail would’ve been between his legs and his ears flattened back against his head. Mom applied the same technique she would use for a frightened puppy who’d run when she’d try to approach. She ignored him. She addressed all her comments to Fearless or me. Whatever she wanted Theodore to hear, she simply said to us. I sat on Theodore’s lap and Mom’s eyes were on my face, not his. She avoided looking at him directly. In animal terms, she stayed non-aggressive and she let him sniff all around. Yet, she didn’t run away. Best of all—she used treats!

Each session she came armed with a treat. She always included a few treats for us too. But for him, she baked something different each week. She tried brownies, cookies, and cupcakes; but it was a blueberry muffin that made his eyes light up. Now she brought a freshly baked blueberry muffin and a large coffee with three creams, just the way he liked it. She soon gained an advantage. She noticed a softening in his body language, and today, he’d actually said “Thank you” when she placed the muffin in front of him. Yup, the treats had made a difference, but not just because she brought him something to eat. If she had brought soda and chips one week and sweet tea and cookies the next, I’m sure he would have been grateful. Hey, the man was living on hospital food for heaven’s sake. Green Jell-O and turkey loaf could make anyone ornery. I’m sure he was already getting all the nutrition a man could tolerate. Mom said bringing food to a patient might not be the most professional approach, but it wasn’t about the food. It was about someone caring enough to notice that Theodore
liked
blueberry muffins and that he
liked
three creams in his coffee. All I know is a homemade blueberry muffin and three creams in his coffee had made a significant dent in one of his walls.

Mom went on talking. “Sure, Spunk, he and I still have a long way to go, but at least now he is talking to you in front of me. He actually looked me in the eye last week, and you know what? He did it without snarling.”

Mom and I sat for a long time that day. As I said before, Mom’s comfortable with silence. As she sat there stroking me, I thought back over all the events of the past few years. A lot had happened. A lot had changed.

Mom must’ve been thinking along the same vein. “You know, Spunk, you and I have been through a lot together. Some of it has been really bad, but there’s been a lot of good stuff too. One thing is for sure, we’ve always made it through and learned something along the way. Just like this time with the group. For months and months, they talked and talked, and in all honesty, I didn’t think any of them were getting very far. Then Theodore started messing with us and
wham
—there he was with a gun! We all had to deal with our own fears and do something. And we did, even Alan; true, his fear caused him to do nothing, but that’s still something. Know what I mean?”

This time I gave her only a very small lick. Her large-brain thinking was too convoluted for me. However, the rest of what she said made more sense.

“Spunky, I’ve been thinking about all the changes that occurred. The rest of the group, including me, overcame fear and we acted. The threat of Theodore was the catalyst that forced us to go beyond our self-imposed limits. There was no time to think about it, we just had to act. And by doing so we found out we were capable of doing a lot more than we thought we could do. I guess you can’t experience bravery if everything you do feels safe. In order to change, sometimes you have to do stuff that scares you. Maybe next time I won’t be so afraid to deal with a fear before I let it grow into its own monster.”

I gave her a lot of licks for that one. In dog terms, what she said was, “Don’t run just because the dog looks big!”

Later that night, after Mom was snuggled in her bed and sleeping peacefully, Fearless and I strolled outside. It was a cool night, and the sky was clear. The big hunter’s moon lit up the entire yard. We smelled that Mrs. Raccoon and her young ones had already come and gone so we knew we wouldn’t be disturbed.

I felt good. I found myself wishing that I could purr like my friend. Purring seems like such a wonderful outlet for expressing contentment. Yes, just between us, I’ll admit that I envy their ability to purr.

Fearless sat on his rump and said, “It sure is a—
breath—
grand night, Spunk.”

“Yup, my friend, it is. I do miss Quincy, though, now that he and Jacob went back home. But it’s also nice to have everything back the way it was.”

“Yeah, I agree. Hey, Spunky,—don’t tell the other boys—but I kind of liked sleeping curled up next to Quincy.—Would you mind if I lay a little bit closer to you tonight?—I promise not to squish you.”

“Sure you can. I’d like it too. Having you nearby would be a comfort to me.”

“Thanks. That’s mighty—nice of you, Spunk. Well, maybe we should head in before—those joints of yours get cold and start to ache.”

“Okay by me. Let’s go in.”

As Fearless and I walked slowly toward the house, I licked my lips. In a dog’s world, that’s a sign of pleasure. I had no way of knowing what new adventures lay ahead, but I did know one thing for sure.

I would not be facing them alone.

A
few nights later, Jacob and Quincy came for dinner. After everyone was fed and the dishes were done, we all headed outside to enjoy what was probably the last night of this Indian Summer. All the critters sensed there was a frost coming tonight. Mom and Jacob sat side by side on the porch swing sipping their coffee.

“You know, Jacob, I’ve been thinking about all that’s happened. We got a lot of our questions answered. Heck, we now even know that it was Theodore who broke into Donny’s house and planted that new bug. Guess the police don’t think Donny’s a loony now! But I’ll be danged if I can figure out why I got so caught up in the whole thing with Joyce. I’ve always had rules about not getting too involved with my patients. I’ve treated abuse victims before, but I never got so involved. I thought the lines were firmly drawn. Usually when I feel so strong about something there isn’t much that’ll change me.”

Jacob smiled. “Now, Hannah, you’re not suggesting that maybe you can be a little stubborn, are you?”

Mom gently poked him in the ribs. “Now don’t you start! All I know is this time something changed me. This time something besides intellect guided me. Something made me forget my rules. Something deep down compelled me to help her. A voice, a feeling, a prompting . . .
something
told me to go beyond what I usually do, go beyond what I usually think. . . . but . . . what . . . what made me do it . . . ?”

Jacob shrugged. “I have no idea.”

My whiskers swept upward. I chose to simply enjoy this moment. Mom was smiling. Jacob’s arm was resting gently around her shoulders. He leaned over and kissed her cheek. Mom didn’t pull away. Jacob sat back and left her alone. His foot began gently rocking the swing. A faint smile pulled at his mouth. Maybe the man had learned a new dance step or two. Bobby and Sweetie were curled up together on the lounge chair. Bobby was grooming Sweetie in a rare moment of role reversal. Fancy was busy tracking a moth. Quincy, Fearless, and I were lying on the cushions Mom had placed at her feet. Fearless was purring while he groomed himself. He obviously was secure and content. He was leaning against Quincy. My two best friends had become friends. Quincy and I lay face to face. We both had new rawhides.

I had a full stomach, a good chew, and my friends around me. What more could a girl want?

I drifted into the zone. I narrowed my focus.

“A bigger family is good . . . A bigger family is good . . .”

W
hat you just read might be whimsical; nevertheless, I believe the zone is real. I have experienced it, as have others that I know. We may define it differently and have varying experiences, but one piece is always the same. We agree that if you quiet the voices of your mind and let your inner tranquility expand, you can go beyond yourself. You can go beyond what you know. You can experience another voice.

This voice sounds different to each one of us, but I can tell you this—the voice is always quiet and creative. Unlike the voices in your head, this voice is never sad or angry, but uplifting, kind, and it may even make you laugh. This voice will guide you, but does not impart guilt or shame.

It is this voice that whispers inspiration to the poet and shows the artist the perfect shade of blue. It is this voice that imparts peace and can reveal wisdom to us all. This voice can become as familiar to you as is the voice of your child or husband.

It is this voice that speaks to me when I write. It is the voice of my spirit.

I have chosen Spunky to represent this voice. She is the best example I know that represents the humor, wisdom, kindness, and unconditional love that I know to be the spirit.

Spunky and the cats have always facilitated my journey into the zone. Their life force is tranquil and helps me to shut off the voices of my mind. In turn, they have taught me countless lessons and given me innumerable gifts for which I will always be grateful and indebted.

Animals can turn the whimsical into reality.

Spunky concurs, “It doesn’t get any better than that!”