Running Fox Papers
Volume 6, issue number 35 ~ January 2006 ~ Animals and Spirituality.
When we learn to communicate with animals…
“When we learn to communicate with animals and learn to listen with animal ears and see through animal eyes, we experience the phenomenon of our own human essence in a direct way and we become conscious of our powers and possibilities.”
From the day that we married, 37 years ago, we have animals in and around the house. During the reception my brother- and sister-in-law came along with an unusual present: two Guinea pigs and a pen. Since then many animals have been part of our household. Guinea pigs, hamsters, chicken and a cock, rabbits, fish, a dog, Jippie the red tomcat.
Today we still have a very old rabbit (Nibble), Jippie the tomcat and frequently the Labrador of our daughter in the house. In particular my wife has been and is very busy with the animals; furthermore she always had an especially emphatic connection with them and has always been able to pinpoint, before anything was to be seen, when something was the matter with one or more of them.
This Running Fox is devoted entirely to animals and to the way in which we humans are able to make contact with them. That not only one method is valid to accomplish that, can be understood from the different articles. Every author experiences these things in her or his own way. The diversity that speaks from that I find extremely catching.
I wish you much con-nection.
Athor Hans Brockhuis
My name is Athor and I am what you people would call a dolphin. In my opinion, though, that name is not chosen very well because it does not cover my opinion about it. The vibrations that word radiates do not coincide with the name we ourselves give to our race. We call ourselves Altea. I do know, however, of a people with that very name who have the appearance of humanoids and once roamed the planet earth. Some also live or used to live elsewhere, but it is us that are at present the heirs of the Altea-race on the world, which you call Earth, while we call it Water.
Currently I live in a shallow bay in a part of the world with a very nice climate. The sun is out almost always. It conjures magnificent shades in the upper layers of the sea just below the brink where the water ends and the air begins. In this beautiful spot I swim to and fro, flanked by a massive variation of fish, of which the one is even more fantastic colored than the other. In all sorts and measures they swim about and because I also have to survive, some do not very much like me at all because I use them for food. Peculiarly though, or maybe not, the extent of their colouring is not proportional to the tastefulness of a certain species, but I know which ones to sort out!
A bit further corral reefs can be found and against one of them rests the wreck of a wooden boat that is slowly decaying. This is the habitat of a large number of sea animals. From time to time a few of my nephews, the sharks, come by which causes great turmoil in the atoll. But apart from the fact that they have to help themselves to their daily portion of nourishment, they cause very little harm. Why would they? Food is aplenty, as far as eye and radar reaches, so why not take it easy?
Myriah Krista Walker
Shelby was the only surviving puppy from Ayla’s litter. She had been saved only because I had given her away to friends at the wee age of six weeks old. I had been used to raising numerous dogs throughout my life, and this was the normal age to give a puppy away, once it was weaned.
But not according to wolves. Ayla didn’t forgive me for a long time. Shelby had been the only girl of four puppies, and her favorite. She would wake her up to nurse her, fattening her up with her rich milk as much as possible.
When I gave the second pup away to friends, Ayla clutched the remaining two pups to her closely. I allowed her to keep them, watching as they grew and marveling at the ways of a wolf mother who devoted herself completely to teaching them wisdom.
Walking with wolf dogs among civilization is a challenging experience. No matter the hybrid percentage that lies in their biology, their natural hunting instincts prevail. The human in the pack must take diligent care and many precautions to keep their charges at home.
Alas, one evening Ayla broke through the fence in the yard and took her three-month-old pups for a cruise in the ranch lands that surrounded our small town. She wanted to teach them how to hunt. Soon enough the smell of chickens drew them to their fate. The rancher, alarmed by the sounds of squawking in his yard, fired shots at the dogs until they fled.
Dog José Bianca
Our dog is laying stretched-out on the floor on his side with his paws stretched-out. It looks like he is totally relaxed. I am fond of the dog. I love all our animals, but this dog is special. It is the sweetest dog I have ever known. I am curious about the dog. I want to know what he is thinking. Inside. I am five years old.
Quickly I lay down beside him. Also on my side. I lift my head so I can look in to his eyes, because I can go inside through the eyes. That is logical. Not so long ago I did that to my mother. I wanted to know if she saw the world exactly as I do. I concentrated on her eyes and… zip, I was in my mother. I saw the world through her eyes and at first I thought it was very funny, but when I was there a little longer I did not like it anymore. It hurt to be in my mother. I will never do that again. It is probably much more fun in the dog. Or would that hurt as well?
I look into the eyes of the dog. What would
be happening inside of him? He closes his eyes. Difficult. I wait until
he opens his eyes and go on looking.
I do not realize I am being aggressive to the dog. I don’t know yet that my looking is inviting him to fight me. For him I am a young dog. Although I am higher in rank than he is, I am still a puppy to him. An ignorant, stupid and very brutal puppy that asks to be put at her place. But unfortunately he is the lowest in rank and would the leader of the pack, my father, tolerate it if he would put me on my place?
In the wide ocean of silence
She knows what she has been in the waters
She re-members what she once was
She is intense thankful and
We who stay behind
Good-bye dear dolphin
Suzie Maja Kluvers
Dear Suzie, I write this story about you and me because it is very special and I think it contains a message for other people.
When Suzie comes into my life it is 'love at first sight' and she is three years old. She wears blue fur that is very resistant against cold weather, so she'd probably survive the coldest winter in Alaska. This cat has been through some stuff and isn't always cheerful. She is feeling unsafe in the house at first, because she has been locked up for a long time. As time goes by she calms down. She is the queen amongst the cats. One can see her consciousness has been through a whole growing process already. Indeed she knows what she wants! When she enters the room she walks like a queen: someone is really ENTERING the room. Her eyes seem to say: "I will show you something here".
At night, when I'm sitting on the couch she always sits down next to me, but never on my lap. For years She is doing ok, but then suddenly she starts shitting in places she shouldn't. At first I think it's an accident, but these 'accidents' happen more often than ever and on several spots in the house. What in Heaven's name is going on? In a book I read the advice to put plastic on the spots she craps. She does it every time in different spots though, and looks at me like: "here you go, this is my doing." I don't know what to do anymore and sometimes get impatient and angry with her.
Inge Jessca Dijks
An imposing tomcat approaches me self-confidently in the park. I kneel down and greet him; he possesses a radiance that has nothing to do with lovability or sweetness. I have no urge whatsoever to pick him up nor to cuddle him. A very small plain signal within me tells me that he won’t tolerate that and I get an image of a cat scratching away without mercy. No floundering or meowing; just all claws, without any reservation. Power. Just like that.
I talk to him, but I do not know any more what I said. I admire him sincerely for his presence and his weight that I estimate to be more that 11 pounds. He is not that good-looking, a little bit too fat and his hind legs are comparatively a little bit small. But I sense he is the boss of the park, he reigns.
He circles around me but I conclude our conversation and continue my walk. I do not look back, but see him sharply before me. Suddenly I hear whining. I look around and see my shepherd dog looking dismayed at the cat from a little distance. The tom-cat finds himself relaxed and challenging next to our tennis ball. An obvious border is clearly visible around him. A circle with a circumference of at least 11 yards. My dog is not allowed to cross that border, so much is obvious.
To rule out that he nonetheless would take the wrong decision to retrieve his ball, I call him to lie down in the grass and wait for me. I walk to the tom-cat and tell him he is gorgeous and that the dog has no taste whatsoever for a contest. We all know the outcome beforehand, don’t we? I take the ball and again let him know of my admiration.