News, Spring 2010, page 3

Volunteer of the Quarter - Steve Shaffer

Centerfold - New Mex Pack

(Peta, Makoce, Tate)

In Memory of Noel

Noel never made it to the Sanctuary, but she had, albeit too short, a great life with her foster family. Wolf rescued her and her two brothers from a breeder’s facility in Arkansas in October of 2002. The gentleman who was breeding wolf-dogs became divorced from his wife, who received the property where the animals were bred. The wife did not want the wolf-dogs on the property and had the Sheriff’s Department and Animal Control come out. They began shooting the adult animals and before they were done 15 lay dead in a pile in their containment area. Three pups who had hidden were still alive and avoided being shot because the Sheriff ran out of ammunition. Quickly the local Humane Society retrieved the pups and gave Wolf a call. Although we did not have space at the Sanctuary, due to county mandated limits, we could not say no. A wonderful couple agreed to foster them. Their story of life with Noel is recounted for you here.

Given Sanctuary October 7, 2002 -- Passed January 5 2010

Our girl ran through the yard like the wind, ears back, tail flying, legs a blur, grinning riotously, spilling glee in all directions.

But not anymore. Not here and now. Now she is the wind.

Noel first graced us with her presence on October 7, 2002 at the ripe old age of about eight months. She and her two brothers, Tonka and Ozzie, arrived just after midnight, scared, skinny, shaking, with the same tragic and appalling background stories of abuse shared by many of Wolf’s magnificent charges. With some experience under our belts from fostering our previous pack, we went to work to change their lives. With love, care, nourishment and the continuous affirmation that they were wanted and protected, they soon blossomed into strong adventurous adolescents and on into adulthood, with the knowledge and security that now they were Home. And oh boy, Home was where the big fun was! Tug-of-War, King and Queen of the Doghouse, Meat Treat Days on the walkway, cruising the big yard, drinking from the birdbaths, peeing on everything, claiming it all; yep, all good, all right here, all right now, all day, every day.

We would have loved for it to last forever.

Noel was diagnosed with lupus in the spring of 2008. It first presented as red areas on her beautiful black nose, just above her nostrils. We thought she’d scraped her nose while working diligently at digging her grand den under the east dog house, so the diagnosis was a big surprise. Lupus? How could that be? She was always so very healthy. The disorder was managed with medication. The symptoms disappeared and recurred at various times and her meds were halted then prescribed again accordingly. Noel never complained about this situation. The condition never slowed her down or inhibited her ability to wholly live. After all, she lived moment to moment. The medication was merely a small addition to her always joyful routine and she didn’t mind at all. She continued to take great pleasure in her food, her family, the air, the sun, the wind, the rain, the snow, the birds, the squirrels, romps through the backyard, snoozes by the pine tree, the task of arranging the straw in their enclosure, and decorating their “apartment” to her specifications. She clearly and truly flourished; everything in life warranted a great big smile and she was never short on those.

In the summer of 2009 a small lesion emerged on her snout, which was at first thought to be a recurrence of lupus. She went back on her meds but this time the obtrusion grew. By September it had grown to be quite large at a rather alarming rate. It began to bother her and she pawed at it, trying to clean it off. Dr. Priscilla Dressen decided that it had better be removed and sent for biopsy.

On October 7, 2009, Noel had surgery to remove the growth, now identified as a tumor. Steve Wolfsong and I took her to the hospital, where I was allowed to observe the entire procedure. I kept a steady flow of Reiki going toward her lovely face throughout. I engaged animal healers and communicators to assist her as well. I watched the surgeon deftly remove this growth and I bade it a swift goodbye as he tossed it onto the surgical table.

Within one week the swelling was gone and most of the scab had fallen off. There was not much more than a sweet little jagged white scar and a small new twist to her amazing grin. She was delighted. She was elated by its removal. She felt wonderful, ran with abandon, ate heartily, and seemed to have been granted a new lease on life. I think she knew that this new lease was short-term though, and she was determined to live and love every second of it.

The prognosis was grim. The medical records from the surgery had read “Mast cell tumor, grade III, high chance for recurrence, chance for metastasis is high; chance for long-term survival may be only 10% or less.” The surgeon had shown me some discolored veins within the cavity left by the tumor’s removal, and explained that this meant the cancer had metastasized and would most likely have spread to the abdominal organs.

I, however, was having none of it. Cancer? No. 10% or less chance for survival? No. Absolutely not. I began to have long talks with her, telling her that she could refuse this disease, that the power was within her to say “No, I chose to live.” We developed signals, she and I. When I said, “How’s that little nose doing today?” she would wiggle her nose back and forth. When I said, “Give me the left ear if you’re feeling good,” she’d wag her left ear. Every day we talked, mostly I talked and she listened. I wanted her to banish this cancer and I believed that she could and would do it.

In early December 2009 she began to exhibit signs of physical discomfort, though she tried valiantly to hide them and always greeted us with her beatific smile. She had stomach issues at times. Trotting about sometimes left her a bit short of breath. The tumor re-emerged above the surgical scar and began to grow quickly. She ate heartily though, and we spoke at length every day. I longed for her to beat this illness, but I also assured her that we would assist her in any way possible with whatever she needed to do.

Having lost her brother Ozzie some years before, Noel’s remaining brother Tonka became her primary caregiver. He stayed at her side continuously, nudging her into the warmest bed of straw during the sub-zero nights, chasing around the enclosure with her to give her exercise, grooming her, and bringing her pieces of meat from the dish to encourage her to eat. One evening we observed as they lay by the gate, he with his butt pointing north, she with hers pointing south, and his big head resting gently on top of hers, breathing strength and comfort and energy into her as only the pure of heart can.

On January 4, 2010, Noel refused her morning medication and her breakfast. She and Tonka spent the afternoon in the east dog house, which we had come to refer to as “Tonka’s house” because it was highly unusual for Noel to go in there. It seems clear that certain rites of passage occurred there that day, the transference of knowledge and love and light that we humans typically fail to understand. Several hours later they emerged. I offered a meal of meat but she again refused any nourishment.

Noel and I had our usual chat that evening just before dark, but this time with a different ending. After we talked by the gate for some time, she turned to go and lie in the east side straw mound. As she began to go, I stated as I had so many times before that she is my mother, my sister, and my daughter, and I professed again my love and support for her, but this time I also dared to ask the question, “Is this the last time I’m going to see you, Darling?” She stopped and turned to look at me over her left shoulder, and bestowed upon me the loveliest smile of universal knowing. She lingered there, not wanting to walk away too soon, wanting to soak me in it seemed, giving me time to do the same. Her laughing eyes became serious. Hers became the eyes of old souls and profound wisdom, and their message was clear. The answer was overflowing with love, and the answer was, “Yes.”

Noel passed early the next morning in the west dog house. It was evident from the gentle indentations in the straw that Tonka had been beside her. A Princess who evolved into a Queen who evolved into a Goddess had passed. And I wanted with all my heart for the whole world to stop in its tracks, to get down on its collective knees and thank God for her existence. But of course that doesn’t happen for any individual, extraordinary or otherwise, and the ice keeps melting and the snow keeps falling and the wind keeps blowing and life carries on.

I see now that I wanted a miracle; that in fact, I was practically demanding one. She kept from me her plans to go until the last, knowing the profundity of my feelings for her and the intensity of my worry. But I also finally see that my miracle was granted. I was graced with the opportunity to spend seven full years with the embodiment of the Sacred Feminine that was, and remains, Noel.

Listen carefully to the gentle spring winds. Take pause. You will hear her, spreading her glory throughout existence, laughing riotously, and you will grin with glee.

Continued -> ->

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