Life Lessons from Old Doggies: Ode to Oso, Part I
Aging and Death in the Age of Genocide
I wrote this piece last year, when death and aging had a different tenor. When death was part of a natural progression and a lesson in the cycle of life. When wisdom would arise with time and reflection.
Since October 7, 2023, with Israel’s heady genocide of Palestinians, death is a violent rupture to everything sacred. An incessant, horrifyingly wicked slaughter. There is no time to process anything before the next obscenity.
We see unadulterated evil, metastasizing in full public view, empowered by the defiant and willful blindness of those who could stop it in an instant. There is nothing natural about decimating human beings, denying them the means to life, and degrading the ones that are still alive. Are we forever changed?
I honestly don’t know how we will recover from the extreme darkness we have been forced to watch and endure in Israel’s annihilation of Palestine. I seek refuge in our Creator, God, who demands of us to be just. What could be more unjust than torture and mass murder? The cold termination of another human being’s full potential for life and beauty? I find comfort in knowing that God sees all and is keeping score for the Final Accounting.
A lesser known gem of God’s law in Islam is that when one unjustly takes the life of another, the murderer assumes the sins of the murdered. Why? Because the murderer has cut that person’s life short and denied them the possibility of repenting for their sins over the remainder of their life. Seems only fair, and quite a deterrent for killing. If only even Muslims knew their own tradition…
Seeing the broken, tattered, orphaned babies in Palestine, I stupidly and helplessly seek reprieve and comfort from my own four-legged babies, my dogs, my wellsprings of pure love. Unaware of how the world is coming undone at the seams, they continue to impart some of life’s most important divine wisdoms through their simply being. Among those wisdoms is that life is short, death will come, and that what we do in between must be brimming with love.
I offer this piece with some trepidation. It is perhaps a reminder of what the crescendos of life, maturity, and aging should feel like, with our gentle preparations for the end of life; that which has been denied to everyone in Palestine. What does it mean when a simple, universal truth - that all babies must be loved, cared for, and nurtured - has been lost? What does that mean for our collective soul?
Suffering that arises from the natural progression of life is an opportunity to draw closer to our Creator and to learn the gifts of compassion we can offer to other souls. Suffering at the hands of other human beings is a betrayal and an abomination. Genocide, as we have been experiencing it, is much more than the wholesale extermination of human beings and the killing of the souls of those who murder. Ultimately, it is the murder of our humanity in all its forms. May we find a way to save our souls and our humanity.
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This week, I spent the vast majority of my days and (often sleepless) nights caring for my dear dog, Oso, our Siberian Husky rescued from a Los Angeles city animal shelter. He was about 8 years old when we first saw him. The minute our eyes met, he howled for us to get him out. Our hearts melted and we reassured him he would be coming home with us. He was covered in fleas and had a tumor on his butt. It was clear he had been neglected for some time. The shelter told us that he was an “owner release” - apparently, his elderly owner had grown ill and unable to care for him, according to his son who brought him in. The truth is, you never know the truth. All we really knew for sure was that his name was Oso, and that he was incredibly sweet and gentle.
Oso is now 17 years old (Huskies have a life expectancy of 12 to 15 years), so in human years, he is about 119! He is skinny and his bones creak and he has lost his ability to stand on his own. He lost his hearing years ago when he got an ear infection and his eyes are cloudy from age, so it is unclear how much he can see. But he continues to want to live (he still eats and drinks and wants to get up and walk) and I am in his service until God takes him or until he reaches the point where his quality of life is so poor that it would be more merciful to "put him to sleep." Here is his latest picture from our walk in the garden yesterday.
Taking care of an old doggie is a gift at so many levels. Because a dog's lifespan is so short, we witness the cycle of life before our eyes as a clear reminder that death will come. We see the full cycle from puppy playfulness to full maturity to old age, when caring for the elder dog takes just as much time as the puppy once required (just as the Qur'an reminds us that as human beings we begin in a childlike state and return to it at our end). But it is a different type of care at the tail end (no pun intended). At the end of life, as with humans, one must contend with the frailty of the body and the longing of the spirit. Oso would first cry whenever he needed help and was frustrated from an inability to move, or if he had fallen in an awkward position that he could not right by himself. He would call for help. Once he had the assistance to get up and running, he was okay.
However, as his condition began to worsen over time, I noticed that he began to cry not because he wanted assistance to get up, but because it seemed he wanted someone to be with him. Knowing that dogs have the intellectual development of a two-year old human, I always imagine how it must feel as a toddler to be in pain or discomfort and want to be comforted. I notice that Oso responds to me, his mom, in a much different way than other caretakers in the house. Sometimes, he quiets down more readily when I just come and sit with him and stroke his head or face.
Of course, I cannot help but imagine, what if this were me? What will the end of my life look and feel like? Will I be stuck in a bed somewhere hoping that someone I love will come to my aid and assistance every time I need something and call for help? Will someone be there to just sit with me to comfort me and make me feel that I am not alone, suffering by myself?
I imagine all the times I helped human loved ones in this position and how my understanding and empathy evolved from such experiences. I recall the traditions of the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) that tell us that God is with the ill and those who are suffering, and I know in my heart that this includes God's beloved dogs, who have spent their lifetimes serving their beloved humans. How could God not be with them, at the very least to see which humans care enough to serve their beloved dogs in their time of need?
I feel that serving Oso is my way to give back and serve God and God's creation. I feel in my heart that for every sleepless night; for every instance that I feel I am going to pass out from exhaustion; for every time that as soon as I climb into bed, get comfortable, and then hear Oso crying and choose to get up to go help him, that I am engaging in service and a jihad (exertion for the sake of God).
I remember the Prophetic tradition that if you care for someone who is ill or elderly, that when it is your time, God will send someone to help you, and I am assured that my short-term discomforts or inconveniences in serving Oso might hopefully be considered paying forward to God what I may wish to receive one day if I live to a ripe old age.
I imagine all of the displaced, homeless, sleep-deprived, freedom-deprived, starved and incessantly bombed Muslims around the world in war-torn nations, in concentration camps, and in open air prisons where their homes have been stolen, with nowhere to go, and I am reminded of how blessed I am to have a home, a bed, and an opportunity to serve a dog that loves me. By comparison, I am in paradise and I have nothing to complain about or feel sad about. And above all else, I am grateful. Alhamdulillah (thank God).
[To be continued in Part II…]
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Postscript: After October 7th, it is hard not to feel guilty about anything I enjoy freely. We in America have the wealth, the freedom, and the ability to affect change more than in any other place. On Substack, I am grateful to add my voice to a community of writers that boldly lend their gifts to speaking bravely against the genocide. As
points out in his powerful new year’s piece:
While I am relatively new to Substack, I am grateful to have found ethical writers here who are not afraid to stand up for Palestine. I am looking forward to finding more. Here are some of the brilliant writers I have discovered thus far who, interestingly, span many subjects and genres of writing:
And of course, the incomparable:
May God bless them all and reward their courage. May we all be empowered to continue the good fight in 2024.
Thank you, and I share your feelings about Palestine, as you know. Our furry friends are such a help through these difficult times, aren't they?
Thank you! :-)