One of my favourite quotes by Harville Hendrix is framed and visible on my work desk, for all those who walk in to see. “We are born in relationship, we are wounded in relationship, and we can be healed in relationship.”
I was introduced to this type of thinking over twenty years ago. Times have changed. People have changed. Perceptions have changed. I have changed. This was brought home to me recently.
I was visiting someone who has dogs. For hours the rescue dog was outdoors and I watched him intermittently. Then, someone opened the door. He came in and went straight to my feet and settled himself. Ordinarily, I would be wary. I have been bitten by dogs on two occasions. Even though these events happened in the distant past, the anxiety around dogs remained. At a delicious lunch at a seaside cafe, my colleague mentioned casually. She observed I was no longer nervous around dogs. Usually, she is protective of me, but did not have to step in to redirect this time. I reflected on her observation.
A few years ago my daughter bought M. It took months before I could stay alone at home with M. As the days became weeks, her bond with me strengthened each day. She would give me a baleful, disapproving look each time she watched me pack my suitcase. She knew I didn’t like her jumping on me. Desperate to eat her dinner, she would whimper but sit outside the glass door until I allowed her in. She learned and obeyed my hand command for ‘stop’ almost like it was instinct in her. While working at home, the silences between the frenetic keystrokes would prompt her to tap, tap, tap her tail, to let me know she was still there. All communicated without a word, trust grew between us.
My daughter and her partner bought another dog, a companion, they thought for M. A purebred puppy. I was disapproving and wary. No, I tell a lie. I was scared. The words, “dominant”, “needs firm training”, “protective of family” did nothing to ease the anxiety. My daughter wanted him for protection, her partner being FIFO (fly in fly out worker). I knew he wasn’t the right breed for the family, especially as he was an aloof puppy when only a few weeks old. I was proved right. A few months later, his aggression nearly killed M. There was nothing the young adults could do, but return the puppy to the breeder. Then, they bought another puppy.
We all fell in love instantly. She smiles! All day! At anything! And, anyone! For her, everything is love at first sight. She shares the love with thousands. Her social media presence and following, is strong!
M was wary of Em from the very start. Walked away from her on approach. M’s memory of being attacked still fresh. She watched from a distance as Em became beloved and in turn, loved others. Em did not give up. She loved M and was never far from her. Soon M started to respond to Em when she brought toys to her, barking insistently for play time. M would sigh, a big old sigh of exasperation, climb off the sofa, and indulge Em for a while.
Em is now 11 months old and 45 kg. M and Em are inseparable.
Harville got it right.
Until next time
As always,
a dawn bird
In October I spent some time in the Kimberley region. Still early in season, the mangoes were delicious. They tasted like they had just come off the tree, not stored in cold storage. So perfect, I had to take a picture! I feasted on them and looked forward to the mango season later in the year further south. Come December, I could not help but ask, where have all the mangoes gone? The ones that appeared in the supermarket were tasteless and obviously stored, bruised and turned to mush, within a day.
Like any art, it is all about perspective and interpretation.
A piece of precious barramundi cooked simply in butter, salt and pepper, shared carefully, like manna, found its place on our plates. I knew at that moment, I would never order barramundi in a restaurant again. Fresh from the river, it was the sweetest fish I’ve ever eaten.
To the far north in the Kimberley region, Wyndham and the cattle station, Diggers Rest where a canopy of whistling ducks flew above my head.
And a wild bush fire burned bright at night.
I drank champagne at sunset in open ranges.
And ate delicious street food from a food truck at a Bunbury beach, with a solitary seagull for company.
Drove hundreds of kilometres in the Wheatbelt flanked by beige fields that had no end.
I visited Crab Creek, outside Broome, where the sea left a cliff of shells.
And, saw silver eye, beaded together, on a twig, while I ate scones, strawberry jam and drank a cup of tea leisurely.
Most importantly, it was the year I learned, each sunset is perfectly timed, but only if you are in the right place and at the right time. I also learned, what is a sunset to one, is a sunrise to another.
The sun was fading fast. The wind strong. My eyesight weak. But like him, I set up, waiting for success.
He leaned right back, now almost lying down. He had done this before. The gouges in the sand, his history.
The wind lifted him. Airborne!
But only for a nanosecond. He came down with a thump. His legs flailing before impact.
The wind was not in his favour. But, he did it all over again, and again, and again.
I was surprised there were only two, high on a tree some distance away. I wondered if they were still young ones.
A larger bird was in the scrub with crows feasting on it. Perhaps, the road kill was the parent? The raptors had vantage point. They could do nothing except call and call.
There was something paradoxical about the raptors’ plight. Powerful in wing and flight, they appeared to be helpless. Later that morning I drove out of town under the shadow of raptors as they flew low. Too low. There was a lot of learning ahead and no teacher.
I have become accustomed to the call of the white plumed honey eater. They are prolific in the Pilbara and I also see them in the Midwest. When excited, their call sounds like maniacal laughter. In the morning it blends in perfectly with sun and foliage and surprises me with its presence.
At dusk I found it grooming, seated exposed on a branch, fluffed up body and yolk yellow head, looking bigger than it did in the morning. I know the feeling. I’ve experienced this after a delicious seafood meal with a colleague!
When the birds leave, I focus on the flowers. They are translucent in morning sun.
When the bees move on, my eyes linger. And, as if a wish granted, I watch one drop before me, reflecting the colours of a Midwest sunset, all yellow, peach and orange.
A Shared Space 
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