The Big Chihuahua (4 page)

We had to leave early the next morning to make it up to the Dogawanda ranch, so maybe it was a good thing Felix didn’t stay over. I was nervous as I drove out of Seattle, since I had never gone undercover before, but Pepe was in fine form. He stood at the passenger window, his forepaws on the armrest, drinking in the forest and mountain views as we drove higher and higher over Snoqualmie Pass east of Seattle.

Pepe was napping by the time we got to the summit of the pass. Still napping while we drove along the length of Keechelus Lake. And still napping when I took the exit for Fern Lake. According to the map, the Dogawanda Center was up in the mountains north of that town.

Instead of turning right into the town, I took a left, on a feeder road that led up into the mountains. There were no other cars in sight. I rolled my window down, and even at this high elevation, a balmy breeze was blowing. The scent of evergreens filled the car. Two chipmunks chased each other across the road.

The road narrowed and the trees grew taller. The light dimmed. It seemed like I’d been driving forever, and I began to worry that I had missed a turnoff. Then I saw a wooden sign welcoming me to the Dogawanda Center for Enlightenment.

I turned off onto a long gravel covered driveway that ended in a dirt parking lot full of cars, most of them SUVs and a few luxury sedans. There was one car that stood out among the rest: a shiny, bright red sports car that looked like it was moving a hundred miles an hour even when standing still.

“That is Fox Black’s famous Lamborghini Coun-tach,” said Pepe.

“Are you sure?” I asked my dog.

“Of course,” he said. “I once saw it on the Spanish MTV channel. They showed him driving all over
L.A.
with a bunch of beautiful women in that car.”

“I used to listen to his band all the time when I was in high school,” I said.

“Well, maybe we will meet him,” said Pepe. “Right now, let us park the car. I want to get out and mark my new territory.”

I tucked my beaten-up green Toyota into the far corner of the lot, and Pepe and I hiked across the parking lot toward the front gate. Pepe sniffed his way along the tires, muttering to himself, and occasionally stopped to leave his mark. I wondered if it was a problem that I had brought my dog. Maybe there was room for only one dog at the ranch.

The front gate was set into a chain-link fence, topped with curled razor wire, which stretched away on either side into the woods. The actual gate, a wooden door crisscrossed with iron bands and swinging on metal hinges, was framed by heavy side beams and a sturdy roof.

Two acolytes stood in front of the door: a man and a woman both dressed in green-dyed cotton clothing: flowing pants and a simple tunic top. The woman who introduced herself as Sequoia checked off my name on a list and asked for Pepe’s name, too. The man, who said his name was Sky, asked to see my driver’s license and checked it against my appearance.

“Does everyone take a new name?” I asked.

“Once you have graduated to the beta pack, Dogawanda gives you a new name,” the man said, looking me over.

I wondered if he would approve of the outfit I had chosen. It had been difficult to know what to wear to a spiritual retreat, and I had finally decided on a vintage embroidered Mexican blouse over jeans.

Pepe didn’t approve and had told me so. Since he once lived in Beverly Hills, he has high standards, but the guard didn’t seem to object to my outfit. He nodded as he handed my license back to me.

“Why all the security?” I asked.

The man frowned. “Sometimes a journalist tries to sneak in undercover. We want to ensure privacy for all of our guests.”

“So it’s not just because Fox Black is here?” I asked.

He shook his head. “These are our normal precautions.”

Sequoia lit a sage stick and began wafting it around my head and whisking the smoke in my direction with a big feather.

“What is she doing to you, Geri?” Pepe asked. “Trying to make you smell more like them?”

It was almost as if she could hear him. “This is a purification process,” she said. “The smoke of white sage grown on the property. It helps to clear away any negative energy you may be bringing with you.” She circled around me.

“I think my dog needs some attitude adjustment,” I said.

“Oh no,” she assured me. “Dogs already live in the moment and do not hold on to negativity.”

“So there, Geri!” said Pepe, dashing through the door as Sequoia opened it.

“You would be surprised,” I said, running after Pepe.

 

 

We went up a dirt path that wound through a grove of tall evergreens, until it came out on a rise, overlooking a cleared area that contained several buildings. There was a magnificent old lodge, made out of huge half-timbered logs, at the far side of the clearing. In the meadow at the right was a huge teepee-like structure. According to the map, it was a yurt. Other buildings filled the space between: a long low building, covered with brush and sod (the map said it was the Longhouse), a long low building that looked like it belonged in Southern California (the map said it was the Bunkhouse), and a huge old-fashioned whitewashed barn (the map said it was the Barn). The map also showed other features: a fire pit in front of the lodge, a garden behind the yurt, and a hot springs accessed by a path that wound through the woods.

I was supposed to register in the lobby of the lodge, so we headed there. Wide, shallow steps led up to a spacious front porch lined with rustic chairs fashioned out of twigs and wicker. Inside the lodge, huge beams punctuated a voluminous space overhead. A river-rock fireplace dominated one wall. The air smelled like cedar.

The woman who sat behind the table directly in front of the front doors introduced herself as Artichoke. She was also dressed in leaf-green, hand-dyed cotton: a long skirt and a camisole top. Her bare skin was brown from the sun, and she wore her dark hair in a braid twisted on top of her head.

“Thank Dog you are here!” she said. “You are the last to arrive. Now we can begin.” She checked off our names on her list, then handed me a dark-green paper portfolio containing an agenda, a map, and a name tag that I was to wear during the weekend.

“No name tag for my dog?” I said jokingly as I slipped the elastic over my neck and straightened the plastic holder in which the card bearing my name was displayed.

She stood up and stared over the edge of the table at Pepe. “You were not supposed to bring a dog with you!”

“But I thought he would benefit from the wisdom of the Dog,” I said, trying to make a joke.

“Dogawanda’s wisdom is for us humans. Dogs already live in the timeless Now,” she said.

“That is so true!” said Pepe.

“What’s next?” I asked.

“Go to your room and familiarize yourself with the contents of the packet,” she told me. “The first workshop will begin in about fifteen minutes. The schedule for the weekend is in the folder I just gave you.”

We were assigned a room in the Bunkhouse, the building that looked like a California mission. The outside walls were whitewashed stucco and the roof was covered with red tiles. Inside the room was monastic but pleasant. There was a single bed, covered with a dark wool blanket, a tiny bathroom with just a toilet and a sink, and a window that looked out over the woods. It smelled like incense, but the incense was covering up something older and less pleasant—perhaps mildew.

We each had our own way of settling in. Pepe sniffed around the edges of the room, then disappeared under the bed. I began unpacking, putting my folded clothes in the wooden chest of drawers, hanging up my sweaters and coat on the hooks by the door. Then a bell rang, the solemn sound reverberating through the grounds. A quick check of the schedule indicated that the introductory lecture was about to begin.

The map directed us to go to the Longhouse. At the front door, a fair-haired young man named Smoke inspected my name badge before admitting us.

The ceiling was low and the air smelled like dust and cedar. The participants sat on two long rows of benches against the walls, all looking toward what appeared to be a stage that jutted out in a V at one end. Women far outnumbered the men, and most of the men seemed to have come with a partner. I looked around for Tammy but didn’t see her; I didn’t really expect to see her at an introductory session, unless she was an assistant. Two of the green-clad acolytes were busy setting up items on the stage, a chair plumped with orange silk pillows, and a wooden box, draped with a gold damask cloth.

They sat down, one to the left and one to the right of the stage, and we all waited in silence for many minutes. Suddenly a curtain to the side was parted and Crystal Star appeared, with a gorgeous Weimaraner at her side. She wore a lime-green caftan that fell to the ground, and her blond bouffant hair was piled high on her head. She swept up to the prow of the stage and looked over us. The Weimaraner moved slowly, his legs stiff. His muzzle was almost completely white. He needed a little help from one of the acolytes to get up to the gold-draped platform, where he lay down, resting his head on his paws and looking over us. With his piercing golden-brown eyes, one could easily believe he was a superior being.

“Hello. I am Crystal Star. And this is Max.” Star waved her hand at the dog. “An ordinary dog before he was chosen by Dogawanda to be his vessel. A succession of dogs, throughout the centuries, has been thus honored by Dogawanda. Because of my proximity to Max, I am able to access Dogawanda and channel his wisdom for all of you.”

She looked out over the assembled group, her gaze roving down one row and up the other. She took her time, making contact with each member of the audience. When she reached me, she locked her eyes to mine for the longest time. She had startling, almost golden eyes. They were as piercing as the Weimaraner’s were soulful. It seemed an eternity passed as she held my gaze. Finally I had to look down.

The next thing I knew she had stepped off the platform and come down the length of the hall and was standing right in front of me.

“I see you have brought a little brother with you,” she told me, her voice loud enough for all to hear.

“Well, yes,” I said. “I thought it would be OK. I—”

“Of course it is right and good that you have brought your companion with you,” Star said. “Dogawanda welcomes
all
his brothers and sisters. Especially the canine species, as dogs always speak only the truth.”

“She has that part right,” Pepe told me.

“You see?” Star said loudly to the entire audience. “This Chihuahua is speaking truth right now.” She turned her focus to Pepe again. “Let me channel more of your truth, little brother.”

“I came here to learn how to do what you do,” said Pepe.

“Ah yes!” she exclaimed, addressing the audience once more. “He says he is excited for us to begin! And so we shall!”

“Wow! She got it almost right!” I said as she swept back to the front of the room. I was a little bit jealous. After all, I thought I was the only one who could hear Pepe speak.

“Merely a good guess,” said Pepe. “She is good at reading people, or dogs, as the case may be. I can sense that about her.”

Star stood facing the crowd. “Before I channel Dogawanda, there is a distinction you must understand. I am a channel, not a medium. A medium stays in her body providing a conduit for the spirits. A channel leaves her body completely, allowing the spirit to fully occupy her vessel. With that understanding, I am now ready to channel Dogawanda. Listen carefully to his wisdom—too few have this opportunity.”

A hush fell over the crowd. She seated herself in the thronelike chair and put out one hand to rest on the head of the aged but magnificent dog, who stayed absolutely still, gazing out at the audience with those golden eyes.

Star’s eyes closed. She shuddered, then lifted her head. Her posture had changed. She seemed to have grown larger, to fill the chair. Her eyes were bright and shining. She smiled wide, her teeth showing brightly.

“Here am I, Dogawanda,” she said in a voice unlike her own—a voice gruff, abrupt, with a rough cadence. “Since the Before Time.”

A few people gasped.

“Dogawanda is pleased,”
he
said, addressing all of us.

The hackles on Pepe’s back rose. His lip curled a bit.

There were several titters from the audience.

“Healthy is skepticism,” said Dogawanda. “The skeptic is alert. However, too much thinking can make one unwise. I had no need of thought when I rode with Hannibal’s elephants into battle. The greatest times of peace always follow the greatest times of war. Therefore, the war within one’s self is not to be feared or avoided—rather it is to be accepted, for when the battle is won, peace and enlightenment will surely follow.”

Dogawanda paused, then thrust out a
paw
, pointing directly at Pepe. “As with you, Chihuahua!” he said. “You have warred a lifetime against your
little
body. Only when your struggle is won and you accept that you are indeed a
big
Chihuahua, will you taste true peace and tranquility.”

“I know that,” Pepe said. His voice quavered and was very small.

“And you, Ben!” Dogawanda pointed at the squat, bald man seated to our right. “Your wealth will increase but only if you give it away!”

Ben squirmed a little at that.

“And you, Angela!” Dogawanda continued, pointing at a middle-aged woman across from us. “Reconstructing your face will not win back your mate. Instead you should focus on enriching your mind!”

Angela looked amazed.

I cowered in my seat. I did not want Dogawanda to make a comment about me. But he did.

“And you, Geri!” said Dogawanda. “Your divorce brought you good fortune and your good fortune will lead you to enlightenment.”

“She spoke the truth, Geri,” said Pepe. “I, naturally, am your good fortune.”

I gave him a pat on the head.

“Time is a conundrum,” Dogawanda continued. “It is both fleeting and enduring. It is said there is no time like the present, but here is the paradox: When you formulate a thought, it is in the past when you finish it. Paradoxically, it is also in the future while you are formulating it. The present exists only in between. Dogs know this. We exist in the present and thus we know a peace and serenity like no others.”

That made some sort of sense. Dogs do seem to have a simple ability to enjoy life that we humans are missing.

“If you wish to learn the Way of the Dog, you must commit to a rigorous course of training. As a soldier learns to obey his commander, without hesitation, so a dog learns to respond to his trainer, without thought.”

“That is surely not right,” said Pepe.

“The modern world seduces us with many choices,” Dogawanda went on. “But living in the here and now is simple. One can experience constant bliss if one is willing to submit to the will of the One who has loved you since the beginning of time and follow the Way of the Dog. You will learn more of this path throughout this weekend.”

“I can teach you the Way of the Dog!” Pepe offered.

“I must now return to Max, my canine vessel,” Dogawanda continued. “But Crystal Star, my human vessel, will teach you the Seven Commandments of Dogawanda. Learn them well, for they are the keys to eternal peace. Aloha.”

Star shuddered, then slumped forward. When she raised her head again, she seemed dazed. Her eyes blinked rapidly. She stood and swayed. One of the assistants stepped forward and gave her an arm.

“Aloha?” said Pepe.

“It means ‘until we meet again,’” I told him.

“So sayeth Dogawanda,”
said Star, holding out her cupped hands. She bowed her head. The audience applauded. “And now for the Seven Commandments of Dogawanda,” she said. “It is important that you memorize these, as they will guide you through the twisting paths toward the one true way that leads to Dogawanda.”

She exhorted us to stand and repeat back to her the following commandments:

When she was satisfied we had learned these, we were dismissed with the command, “Dog be with you!” and told to return after dinner.

 

 

We ate our meals in the dining hall, which was in a wing on the ground floor of the lodge. Dinner was served as a buffet, with servers standing behind curved glass, and meals presented in silver chafing dishes. To my dismay, the first items offered were fish and steak.

“But I’m a vegetarian,” I said to the server who asked me what I wanted.

“But this is an animal who grazed freely on grass and was killed with mercy,” she said, her fork poised in midair, holding a dripping slab of meat.

“I don’t really care how it lived,” I said. “I don’t eat cows.”

“I do,” said Pepe, looking up with glistening eyes at the hunk of cow meat.

“I’ll take a small piece for my dog,” I said.

“I would like a large piece,
por favor
,” said Pepe, but I ignored him.

“How about fish?” the server asked, moving over to the next pan, which was packed with silvery trout. She slid her spatula under one. “Caught in the pure waters of a lake only a few miles from here, just yesterday.”

I considered it for a minute, but the staring eyes of the fish seemed to accuse me of having a hand in its death.

“No thank you,” I said, passing down the line, where I was offered a selection of vegetables: spinach, chard, baby greens, carrots, and broccoli. I heaped my plate with those, then added a scoop of raw almonds for some protein. I paused at the end of the line and looked around.

“Where’s the silverware?” I asked, speaking more to myself than to anyone else.

“We are serving the diet eaten by our ancestors in Paleolithic times,” said the woman who was arranging grapes and apples on a tiered display at the end of the line. “We eat with our fingers as our ancestors did.” She wore her hair in a long braid, and I could see that it had a red tint. As she turned around to face me, I caught a glimpse of her face. She was, without a doubt, Tammy Darling.

“Tammy?” I said.