The Death of a Mole

Dear friend,

Walking with Zara is an adventure. You never really know how she’s going to take to another dog you might pass—or someone on a bike or a jogger. It keeps you focused.

We passed a new mum and her baby this morning. We said hello in whispers. The baby was sleeping. Born to loving parents, that baby is now in charge—its presence has altered their lives forever.

We all were that child once.

Some of us had bumpier landings than others.

But we did change the world just by being in it.

You can lose sight of simple truths—like the divinity of your very own being.

The world piles layers on top of you. I don’t know if anyone escapes it entirely. It’s like being asleep under covers you throw off, only to find more and more of them.

Throwing off the covers.

Breathing in something fresh and new.

Zara suddenly pounced—her front paws slammed down on something in the long grass and brambles. Her head lunged. In her jaws was a small black furry creature. She threw it down, body-slammed it, rolled on it with her full weight. I shouted at her to stop. She picked it up again, threw it down, rolled once more.

I expected her to eat it—she’s done that before—but this time she just walked off, leaving the poor thing panting on the path.

Its shiny black fur made me think it could be a baby mole, or maybe a rat pup.

I knelt beside it. It was still breathing. I looked around for something to end its misery, but before I could act, it took one last breath and was still.

"Its life left with the breath," I heard the thought form in my mind. Then silence. All I could hear was birdsong. Zara trotted off as if nothing had happened. I lifted the dead animal by its tail and left it deeper in the undergrowth.

I guess it couldn’t have been a mole, with a tail like that.

The silence was broken by Nick, who runs the café by the canal. He’s going through a spiritual awakening—having all kinds of difficulties with it. I sat in the sunshine as he set out tables and chairs. Zara lay in the shade, keeping watch for other furred things. She can’t help herself. It’s fascinating to her.

I wanted to help Nick, so I stayed. I found myself reassuring him that it will be okay, that it will work out. I told him I knew that with the deepest part of myself. I didn’t explain why—I just said it. He seemed reassured. At least he relaxed a little.

Sometimes we all need an encouraging word.

Till tomorrow,
Love,
Mikey