Griffin, two years and countless tears on.

Photo copyright Aji, 2018; all rights reserved.

This is my boy, my soul mate, my spirit dog. Both of ours, actually; he adopted Wings several years ago as his second charge. He was the kind of dog who wasn't a dog: He was always half-human, and something more besides. When we say he was our spirit dog, we don't mean "spirit animal"; we mean a dog who was, and was of, the spirit world as much as this one.

I talk to him every single day. He's always in my heart; my spirit is always with him. That will never change. He was that rare once-in-a-lifetime friend who just happened to have four legs and floppy ears. I mourned him in a way I never mourned a human being, and still do. He was an old soul, and a wise one, and he was with me for years when no human could be bothered. Once he came here with me, he captivated Wings, too.

The time was 5:00 in the evening, pretty much on the dot. It was a line of demarcation, a rift in my life that upended all the rest, and will never be repaired, at least not on this side of that line. The best I can do now is talk to him, take him water (and sometimes, like tonight, a little food of some special kind), take him cedar and tobacco and feathers and smoke, as I did this evening. 

I've never known such an outsized, influential spirit, and it's not just me. A few days ago, when She-Wolf was having trouble in her battle with cancer and the complications presented by her diabetes, I came back from closing the gate and surprised her there, where his body is laid to rest. I've seen her near there many times, and Raven too, occasionally, but this time, she was right up against the marker, looking downward as though communing directly with him. She acknowledged my presence but kept her attention firmly fixed on the ground where her alpha's body is, and she was clearly communicating something and getting something in return. This isn't entirely new; his walking on upended their world, too, and they both frequently could be found in Grif's spot under his favorite cedar tree, looking directly over at his grave as though seeking to draw strength from his spirit. But this was another order of magnitude altogether.

She's doing better now, too.

He's always been a healer; I can attest to that.

I am so fortunate, so blessed. And yet, there is a Griffin-sized, Griffin-shaped hole in my heart, in my soul, that will never be mended, not as long as I'm on this side of the line. That's true for Wings, too. And so he will always get food and water, tobacco and cedar, feathers and smoke.

We love you, Griffin. You're never out of our hearts.



All content, including photos and text, are copyright Aji, 2018; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.