Without thinking (if I had thought I would not have done it) I went to him. He barked fiercely. I got down to his level. I moved my right hand palm down towards him. He snapped his jaws at me.
I said to him softly over and over, “It is okay.”
As my hand moved towards him his barking became fiercer.
Finally he snapped his jaws shut on my third finger. I said softly, “It is okay.”
He let go of my finger. On the skin was just the slightest dent in the flesh. I was impressed by his self control after having been run over twice by a car.
He became calm. Attracted by the noise a woman came out. I told her what had happened.
I did not do that deliberately. I would not deliberately do it again.
Years passed. In 2018 I adopted a traumatised cat. Did not know he was traumatised. He bit, clawed, hissed and scratched. My hand puffed up from his bites. I thought it would take over a year for him to come round.
The third time he bit me I said to him softly, “You know it is okay.”
He looked at me quizzically. Then he had an instant change of heart for the better. From that moment I got head bumps instead of bites. He planted himself on my chest when I lay down. He spent every moment as near me as possible just staring.
In Toronto in the 1970s when I walked my dogs I looked for four leaf clovers. I put the clovers I found in books I had read which I gave to friends at Christmas most of whom thought me too cheap to buy wrapping paper. Some however unwrapped the gift (by which I mean they read the book). They found the treasure hidden within.
Now here is why I’m telling this story, In 1978 in a a town in Wales famous for used books (HAY-ON-WYE) I went for a walk.
A small dog not much bigger than a cat joined me.
All at once he stopped. He pointed. I bent down tweaking him under his ear. I said, “What’s up?”
At that he stuck his pink tongue out drawing my eye to an eight leaf clover in front of his nose.
In that moment I knew that dog in Wales knew what I did with my dog in Toronto.
When people ask if I have faith they most often mean do I go to church.
When I went to churches I was told in no uncertain terms not to come back.
Frankly I never met anyone there who can let a dog bite their hand.
For decades in Toronto people have been biting my hand.
They have not wounded me.
There is a power in each of us greater than anything that can be thrown at us.
We don’t have to learn how to use this power.
We are born knowing how to use it.
Boxers need sparring partners. If our sparring partner pulls their punches they are not helping us.
When someone tries to kill you say, “Thank you for not pulling your punches.”
We are here to become unkillable.
Embrace the storm. It will pass.
In the picture above Zorro is the cat who came here ready to kill.
–Reg Hartt (Crazy-Wisdom-Yogin)