Loving The Under Dog

Every winner has a story and it is easy to imagine that many people are overnight successes without realising the years of grunt work which contributed to their success. And then there are those that remain unrecognised, ignored or even worse bullied and ostracised for being different. To love a winner is easy but loving the underdog is, I truly believe, a far more noble act.

I live in a beautiful, small village inhabited with, less beautiful but, equally small minds. This sounds rather sad but I am happy with my lot – a fantastic husband and mini menagerie of other animals! Soon after we arrived in early springtime a stray, emaciated dog, resembling a Chocolate Labrador, started to cross our garden forlornly. This animal was in trouble – drooling and with crusty weeping eyes, his ribs resembled a finished meal. Over the course of several days we became friends and Rick and I decided to feed him. Covered in tics he was a beleaguered, sad beast but was desperate to be accepted.

Boris, as I called him, was the village street dog. Our neighbour, George, told us that he had been abandoned, many years ago, by a family that left him, with their rubbish. when they up sticks and moved on. Since this day he had begged, foraged and rummaged his days away and, after a particularly harsh winter, was on his last legs when he appeared at our house. Boris became my friend and the angels told me we were a gift to one another – both outcasts in our own different ways.

Boris Bog-Off, so called for his initial habit of crashing mealtimes and then promptly clearing off was, like me, a true free spirit; he had no desire to come into the home – except for a swift warmup by the fire in the biting cold of the winter.

This klutzy, smelly hound, everything in a dog that I did not really favour, captured my heart completely. I looked forward to seeing him in the morning and eve for mealtimes and he soon became a fixture of our household. We insulated an old washing machine carcass into a kennel for him and he often slept, cosy, on our terrace. He was always so excited to see me when we returned home and, eager to please with not a bad bone in his fragrant body, was my best buddy.

Sadly, the village folks hated Boris. There was a price on his head! Whoever killed him was guaranteed a bottle of the local brew and in the course of a year this poor animal often came ‘home’ bruised, battered and traumatised. It broke my heart to hear him whimper in pain and left me furious that people would choose to so abuse such a pure and innocent soul. I bought him numerous collars to protect him from tics and fleas but, each time he would wander, he would come home having been robbed. Boris had a huge heart and was so docile as to allow people to approach him and simply take the collar from around his neck.

The other day he came home in the worst state we have witnessed. Physically the righthand side of his face was swollen, his right leg was seemingly fractured at the ankle but, worse still, Rick sensed that his spirit was broken. I fed and fussed him and resolved to call the vet later having left him in the shade of the Walnut tree to rest.

At some point he took himself off and Rick told me he sensed that he had come ‘home’ to say goodbye before quietly retiring to die. We have not seen Boris for four days now and I fear that my mate has gone to pastures anew with the guys in the skies. My guardian angel says:

‘Boris was a wonderful soul gifted to our messenger, Linda, to help her adjust to unfavourable circumstances. Like Linda, Boris was a survivor – they were kindred spirits. As Linda channels my words she cries for her unlikely friend and for humanity. For how can anyone believe it admissible to so mistreat any other sentient being?

Boris did not die from his physical injuries rather from the wounds inflicted upon his soul since being abandoned. This poor dog survived freezing winters with near starvation but was killed by the cruelty of man who refused to take him into their hearts. Rather than treat him as a pariah the village people should have adopted him as their mascot and taken turns to feed him, but they chose not to do so. This is a sorry reflection on man and those that actually abused him are guilty of a mortal sin. Those that chose to standby and say nothing are enablers!

It took an outsider to help Boris and this is a shameful indictment on man. To commit abuse on any sentient being is highly frowned upon in the spiritual realms and these particular abusers will pay a hefty price for their actions for Boris is one of our messengers sent to teach the village kindness and empathy. The village not only failed him but they also failed themselves and a mortal sin against an animal is punishable by karma or retrograde reincarnation; which is to say that a serial dog abuser will reincarnate as a dog in the next lifetime! This is a surprising and little-known truth which many will deride and scoff at: at their peril.

Linda too is an underdog and although not physically abused has suffered at the hands of many who have systematically undermined her at every turn - but this is all about to change and I advise you to stop listening to ego driven teachers and listen to our true messenger. For, in the coming years, Linda will become a voice of hope and redemption for humanity. And yet, for now she remains buried under all the wannerbes who steal the light for personal aggrandisement - I caution you all to choose wisely those you listen to.’

RIP Boris we love you xox

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Be Happy xox

(Since November 2018 my writing is truly collaborative with spirit as I am now a channel for them and charged with bringing truth and hope to humanity.)