One day, the Wisdom Master saw a Jack Russell Terrier at a local shelter, and she asked me if I wanted to give an old dog a home. I said, “Yes.”  Little did I know, how this one word would change my life so drastically and deeply!

The dog was eleven-years-old with long white hair, except for two black ears and one black eye. I gave her the name, Hannah, meaning “flower” in Japanese, but spelled in the western way. It was also my niece’s name. The shelter staff told me she was only partially house-trained and an escape artist. This was why she had lost so many homes.  No one could contain her. 

Contrary to what they said, Hannah was perfectly house-trained.  It was only that she needed to go three times during the morning. I took her with me to the office, and when she needed to go out, she gave us a very clear message by barking and running to the door. I knew right away that she was exceptionally smart, maybe too smart for her own good. Many times she outsmarted me and got herself into trouble.

I expected Hannah to have some mental baggage as a result of losing so many homes, but I did not expect it to be so severe.  She was totally unruly, oblivious to everything around her, except for small animals she could chase.  You could call and call her name, and she would not hear you. She constantly pulled hard on the leash. Every time she pulled, it felt like my arm was yanked out of my shoulder joint. In addition, she lived up to the description of an “escape artist.” She shot out of any small opening, running like a bolt of lightning. She was so fast, no one could catch her.

The Wisdom Master explained to me that Hannah became oblivious because of the hardship she’d had to endure in her life. She further explained that Hannah’s high level of tolerance to pain was due to the fact that she had experienced so much pain, both mental and physical. It was easy to understand this; we do the same thing. We shut the world out if it is filled with pain and suffering. I have also observed that people who have had difficult lives seem to have a higher pain tolerance, and carry a lot of anger inside, as did Hannah.

She also had nightmare. The number decreased over time, but she was not totally free of them. When she saw big dogs, she flew into a blind, uncontrollable rage and attacked them. If a car came too close, she did the same thing. Without any warning, she would run into a busy street. I could never relax. She must have been attacked by big dogs and probably had been hit by a car at least once.  When I tried to use a clicker for training, she became very afraid and cowered, shaking like a leaf. All these things were valuable windows into her past experiences. They told me that I needed to be gentle with her, that she needed extra understanding and patience from me and everyone. The amazing thing was that, in spite of her previous hard life, she still loved people, exposing her tummy to everyone to get a tummy rub. I felt that she had a big spirit that refused to be defeated.

I also faced a big dilemma: It was Hannah’s utmost desire to be free, free to run and explore, something that had been denied her all her life. I wanted her to have it, and I knew that it would make her happy and be an important element in her healing. But, I could not let Hannah run free within Padma Valley (the monastery’s 13 acre fenced-in living area) because she chased the cats.  She could run free outside Padma Valley, but it was a natural forest, and there were predators such as coyotes, cougars, and bears. However, I decided that I was going to take the risk and let her run free in the woods, even if it meant Hannah’s life might be ended by a predator. Every day I let her out with a prayer. She gave everything to this new-found freedom. I saw her flying with all four feet up in the air simultaneously. The big smile on her face told me that I was doing the right thing. In about four months, she was no longer an escape artist. She relaxed, and her eyes shone with vitality. Every day for six hours, she ran like it was the last chance she would get. She was happy and starting to mellow. 

In many ways, the bond between us deepened. But soon, I faced a different kind of difficulty. It was really a difficulty with myself and not with Hannah, but I stubbornly refused to look at it that way. It was clear that Hannah and I were very similar, both willful and stubborn. I admitted this, but kept saying that she was thr difficult one and tried to change her, to get her to behave in a certain way by the force of my will. Hannah was a very worthy opponent. She was as willful as I was, and we got into a stalemate. By this time, I was exhausted from fighting; I was miserable and desperate. I said, “Someone has to give,” and knew it would have to be me. Continued...

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