Heap Strong Buffalo Medicine

MEDICINE BUFFALO WITH CALF

DAKTARI IN HIS HAILCHASING HEYDAY - CIRCA 1968

My friend Deirdre knows the meaning of all kinds of animals.
After sharing my surprise bison sighting with her, Deirdre emails me the following:

" If you are shown Buffalo, you may be asked to use your energy in prayer. You may also be called upon to be an instrument of someone else's answer to a prayer. To honor another's pathway, even if it brings you sadness, is a part of the message that Buffalo brings.”

For the next few days. I keep my eyes open and my ears pealed expecting to run into a person whose prayers I can answer. By Day 2, absolutely nada presents itself. Then, last night, an opportunity knocks.

I’m invited to speak about my work in Africa at a Rotary gathering to honor major donors to the Rotary Foundation. Before the main event, there’s a cocktail party. I’m talking to my friend Brian when a dark haired woman in a green dress approaches the two of us. Her name is Donna Lee. I don't know her well but I do know that she lost her husband last fall.

I can see from Donna’s face that she feels isolated being at a cocktail party without Vince. And since we are herd animals, just like the buffalos, she is seeking refuge by saying 'Hi' to someone she recognizes. Cocktail parties are like that, so I know the feeling.

It’s not long before Brian heads off to get some food and Donna and I are deep in discussion about her situation.

"This is the first Rotary event I've been to since Vince died," she tells me.

"It must be so hard," I say. Tears spring to her eyes.

"I wasn't going to come," she said. "But just as I decided not to, the clouds parted and the sun shone through. I feel like Vince wants me to here tonight."

"Everything happens for a reason," I sympathize.

She starts talking about Vince and I listen. She tells me how they were so close, and how much she misses him. She tells about finding an unopened 2004 birthday card from Vince while cleaning out his office - two days before her birthday this April. She shows me the bracelet she’s wearing and about how it has two hearts linked together with a chain.

"You know you're wearing a lovely green dress tonight." I interrupt gently.

"Yes," she acknowledges. "And you know something, I never wear green."

"Well, you look good in green. And green is the color of healing. I like to wear green myself."

"Do you think this will ever end?" she asks.

"You'll never be cured ," I say softly. Her eyes are filling with tears.
"Nor would you want to. But you will be healed eventually. You've taken the first steps by wearing green and by coming to this affair tonight. It's very brave of you."

"Yes," she replied it is.

"You know you can't bring him back," I say "but Vince will never leave you."

A look of gratitude replaces a few of the tears and a shy smile appears on her face.

I give Donna Lee a big hug and a kiss on the cheek and I’m off to give my speech.

After the presentation, I try to find Donna again but she has fled.
I hope she will begin to get out more and resume her active life in Rotary service.
The bison medicine just might work for her.

Also, prayer answering seems like a worthwhile endeavor to me.
I’m beginning to think that healing is more important that curing in most situations.
But it’s not something that MD’s like me are trained to do!

When I was a young hail chaser out on the prairies of Nebraska and Colorado, we used to repeat an old bachelor aboriginal saying about bison. I think it went something like this:

“When the chips are down, the buffaloes are empty.”

I think that even if they're not completely empty, they often feel empty.

Maybe something could be done about that.

And that is my final musing on bison medicine, for a while at least!

DAKTARI

Where the Buffalo Roam

The buffalos have Landed

but the gypsies left their cart!
Beware - Buffalo Gore!
Alien Lander Offloading Sheep -but not in Merrimac!

Grandma Gerry tells Sophie about her trip to Rome

May 6 (Recess Day 6) and my Mom is visiting from Boulder, Colorado.

She's 82 and it’s raining so we decide to go to a museum.
I pick the Buttonwoods Museum in Haverhill. I’ve never been before, but it googles up nicely, so we head over.

A delightful lady volunteer gives us a tour of the grounds. My Mom listens patiently. She’s a little hard of hearing but it’s a private tour and Mom is not shy about asking our tour guide to speak up. The guide explains that in 1632 when the first dozen English arrived in what would later be Haverhill, they rowed their boat ashore at the site of a ceremonial tree that was maintained by two middle-aged bachelor Indians. They were the only two inhabitants, as the rest of their village had succumbed to the smallpox and other alien diseases. The natives signed a treaty with the twelve Brit boatmen and the town of Haverhill was founded.

The aboriginal American inhabitants, called the Penacooks, are long gone, as are the first settlers. But guess what, that Indian ceremonial TREE is still alive. It’s awesome standing beside this ancient tree and gazing across the Merrimack River. I feel like I'm transported back in time 370 years to a land and a culture that existed before the Europeans. What a blessing.

On the way back Mom and I decide to follow the road along the river instead of taking the highway. I’m still in tree-revery mode as our aging Pontiac chugs up a hill just before entering Merrimac, Mass. As we crest the rise, on our left about 30 feet away is a herd of bison. Real honest to God buffalo. Seven adults and a bee-yewtiful baby bison. They’re in a small field, gathered around an ancient gypsy cart on wheels - like the one from the beginning of the Wizard of Oz. The gypsies have absconded for the day and the cart itself is filled with chickens.

I pull the car to a halt. "Whoa Nellie," I think. "The buffalo have landed." And I start to laugh.(I just can't help myself - what a weird and marvelous planet we live on! A wolf in Maudslay State Park earlier this week and now a herd of bison in Merrimac.

We get out of the car and walk down a dirt road to get a better view.
A farmhand in a truck passes us slowly and brakes to a halt.
“Don’t get too close to those buffalos,“ admonishes the driver.
“We’ll be careful,” I reply
“Stay at least 10 feet back from the electric fence,” he yells cheerfully as he drives away. “The owner was gored twice last week!”

As he vanishes in a cloud of dust, I think to myself:
“Twice? Once I can understand. But how does one manage to get gored twice? What must Mrs. Buffalo Owner be thinking?”

We stay at least 20 feet from the fence and carefully inspect the herd.

“Well, here’s the home where the buffalo roam!” I observe to my Mom.
“You’re right about Rome,” Grandma Gerry replies.
“What about Rome?” I ask in a louder voice.
“Rome wasn’t built in a day,” she non-sequiturs back.
“Mom, you need a hearing aid!” I expostulate for the 5th time today.

“What would I do with a hearing aid?” she asks indignantly.
“Put in in your ear,” I tell her.
“But how would I ever find it?” she asks plaintively.
“Good point!” I concede.

At night I go out with my neighbor Bruce for some star gazing. We are checking out Cancer and the bee-yewtiful Beehive Cluster. Mars is right next to it. I'm looking at Mars with my binoculars when all of a sudden, this really bright object goes booking across the sky right where I'm looking.

"What's that," I ask Bruce.
"Too fast to be a plane," he replies. "It must be a satellite."

We follow it along for a minute or two until it passes into the Earth's shadow and vanishes. Then we head to the back yard to check out Hercules.

"Don't look now," says Bruce, "but here comes another one."
Sure enough, another satellite is passing through Hercules - headed for Vega . We check out Saturn and I identify Procyon in the Little Dog. And just as we turn to go in for a nightcap, darned if another satellite crosses our path! Three satellites in one evening! It's a shower of satellites.

"I wonder," I ask Bruce. "Are these satellites or visitors from outer space headed for some alien get together?"

"Could be a big night for alien abductions," he replies.
"Call it a night?"
"You bet!"

Buffalos, wolves, space-alien abductors, and 400 year old Indian trees.
Not to mention the Oz cart and all those gypsy chickens!

All in a day's play for daktari!

DAKTARI

Einstein - World's Smallest Horse

EINSTEIN- TEENY WEENY HORSE, BIG HEAD

BLUE EYES!

"IT'S MY CAMERA, MS. HORSE"

THIS PONY WHISPERS DAKTARI!

Today I find out that the world’s smallest horse lives in the ‘hood. Of all the places on the entire planet he was foaled 10 days ago in Barnstead, NH. His name is Einstein and he weighed only 6 pounds at birth. His parents are miniature horses but Einstein (as you can see by his photo) is a genuine mini-miracle.

“Hey Kat. Wanna go see the world’s smallest and only fairy horse?” “Not possible,” she shoots back. “I’m busy, busy, busy with lots of important stuff to do.”
(My friend Kat is usually good for an adventure, although she sometimes needs poking with a sharp stick to get her started . . . mornings especially.)

“Come on. Just think of it,” I wheedle. “What are the odds that of all the places on all the planets of this solar system the world’s smallest horse would incarnate just one hour drive from Amesbury. It‘s gotta be a sign from the Gods! It’s once in a lifetime.”
“Oh, all right,” concedes Kat. “If you put it that way, I’ll go.”
“Atta girl. It will be fun. You’ll see.”

We hop into my ten-year old adventure-wagon. (The white Pontiac -- Mass 74-A-JOI with the purple “Don’t Postpone Joy” bumper sticker glued securely above the rear plate)
Supplies include the usual water, peanut butter sandwiches, and M&M’s for dessert. We also have duct tape, twine, bailing wire, an electric drill and a garden hoe. (just in case)

Joy, it seems, is eminent!

The White Mountains are just above the horizon to the North as we drive up to Einstein‘s birthplace at ‘Tiz a Miniature Horse Farm‘. A three- inch orange barrier tape extends across the driveway, which is further blockaded by the family Ford.

“Looks like they’re expecting visitors,” I offer.
“And looks like they’re not too happy to see them,” opines Kat. “Also, what about the dogs?” (Kat is deathly afraid of dogs.)

“Think nothing of it,” I reassure my canine-phobic colleague. “You wait here and I’ll go see what’s happening.”

I duck under the ‘Do not Cross’ tape and walk up the drive to be greeted by three barking sheepdogs and an elderly Cro-magnon sharpening a long pointed stick, who I identify from the website as the farm’s owner, Larry Smith.
“Probably fashioning a crude spear to go with the barrier tape,” I surmise.

“Hi, I was wondering if we could see Einstein,” I enquire politely.
“Einstein’s not here,” answers the laconic Mr. Smith. “He’s away in a heated barn until Saturday.”
My disappointment shows. Larry eyes me head to toe. After a short silence, he relents.
“Come on in, you two, and see the others.”
“Bingo,” I chortle to myself.

I return to Kat waiting in the car, surrounded by the troika of suspicious sheep dogs.
“Well the bad news is that Einstein’s not here,” I explain. “But the good news is that we can go in and see the other ponies.”
“What about these dogs?” Kat asks dubiously.
“ We can see them too!” I enthuse. The good news is they’re Sheepdogs not Dobermans. Their bark is worse than their bite.”

Kat is not entirely convinced. But she gamely exits the vehicle as the dogs nudge and sniff.
“You do know how to dog-whisper, don’t you?” I tease.
“ No but I know CBT and it doesn’t seem to be working,” quavers fraidy Kat.

Larry calls off the dogs and we go inside the barn. Everything is just like a regular barn only smaller. Tiny stalls and mini-bridles. It’s a fairy barn! Kat is fascinated by the blue eyes of the mini-stallion in the first stall and takes lots of photos.
The rest of the horses are in a paddock at the back. We stand at the gate to watch.

“Go on in,” exhorts Judy Smith (Larry’s wife). “Just close the gate after.”

No sooner does Kat close the gate and start photographing the mini-horses, than a quartet of pint-sized pintos starts nudging her into a corner between the gate and the barn.

“I don’t like this,” says Kat testily. “I’m being corralled by horses!”
“I’m on it,” I encourage, as I insinuate myself to Kat’s left.
A tiny tan pony is nipping at her camera strap. Other horses are sampling the cuffs of her jeans. Kat is trying her darnedest to stay calm. She mutters “CBT, CBT” softly to her herd of equine admirers.

Looks like I’m going to have to cut out Kat from the rest of the herd.

“Just slide between me and the barn,” I instruct.
Kat sneaks behind me and then tries to go in back of one of the ponies to head directly to the gate..
“Watch it!” I exclaim. “Even small horses can kick. Horses can only see sideways, just keep yourself in their field of vision and you’ll be OK.”

Safely behind the gate, once again, Kat regains her composure.
“Way to go,” I encourage her. “We’ll make a cowgirl out of you yet!”
“Or a casserole for horses,” sez Kat.
“Don’t worry, they’re strict vegetarians.”
“Well, you coulda fooled me!”

DAKTARI

Daktari Retires!

Free at Last!

Last Friday was a life-changing event for Daktari.

It was my last day of work - ever! I’m officially retired as a practicing doc and now can return to what I do best - playing. I now have all the time in the world. And every day brings a new adventure. Not that I won’t someday take up my stethoscope again. For now, however, school is out and summer vacation has no end in sight.

My last day at the office was bitter-sweet. Patients brought lots of presents! I got gift certificates to favorite restaurants and contributions to Amesbury for Africa. I even received a gift certificate for zip-lining at Deerfield Valley Canopy Tours in the Berkshires from my staff! Yippeee!

My most unusual gift was from Jimmy R., a large and boisterous diabetic patient of mine who has managed to turn a boyhood fondness for blowing up things into a vocation. Jim owns his own demolition company. His work allows him to indulge his inner child to the max. For my retirement, he managed to locate a British Army pith helmet worn by a Scottish soldier in the Zulu wars which he gifted to yours truly. Two things are known about Drummer Buchanan, the helmet’s owner: 1.) He survived the battle of Rorke’s Drift in 1879 and 2.) He had a very small head (size 6).

During the battle, Buchanan and 150 comrades fought off some 4000 Zulu warriors. I don’t know if his helmet made it through the battle unscathed. But its successor now resides on my mantel next to three hand- painted figurines representing Shaka Zulu‘s assegai-wielding impi warriors.

Jim promises to keep in touch and notify me when any big demolition jobs are upcoming. He says I can even press the button if and when! Ka-boom! What are the chances that on the big day I can wear kinsman Buchanan’s pith helmet instead of more traditional protective headgear? Sounds like an excellent jpeg for a future blog adventure!

My first full day of retirement was May 1st. This coincides with the pagan holiday of Beltane and with my friend Ellen’s 60th birthday.

Beltane is a ‘cross-quarter’ day, meaning it’s exactly midway between the spring equinox and the summer solstice. About a thousand years ago, Britain’s druids began lighting two need-fires on top of a hill on this sacred day. Following various rites and rituals, the local Celts would drive the village's cattle between the two fires to purify the animals and bring luck to their owners. The subsequent celebration on the hill would last all night, after which each local Celtess would carry back a torch lit by the Beltane flame to re-kindle her family’s hearth.

What better way to celebrate my newfound freedom and Ellen’s sexagenarian upgrade, than to perform an ancient Gaelic cow-cleansing ritual?

At dusk, we assemble at Ellen’s house and build a fire outdoors. (Lacking cattle, we decide it’s OK not to build a second fire.) Before the ceremony, each participant writes down on a piece of paper the aspects of his/her life which she/he wants to purify. Then . . . let the wild rumpus begin!

First we beat drums, shake rattles and blow our various whistles and flutes. Ellen leads us in a Sacred Circle dance and teaches us a paean to the Four Elements. We hold hands, dancing and chanting counterclockwise around the fire. Round and round we go. Gazing at the dancing flames, I feel transported to an earlier millennium – a wild and alien place and time. One of the dancers is a friend of Ellen’s named Deirdre whose willowy figure, copper tresses and lithe silhouette against the coruscating firelight seem a throwback to Celtic pre-history.

During the dance, we each choose a moment to approach the flames and toss our purification paper into the fire. The night is overcast and there’s no wind, so our transformational intentions soar with the smoke straight up to the dark heavens. As a final salute to the fire deity, we light a Chinese Fire Lantern (hot air balloon) that soars high over the Artichoke Reservoir before flaming out.

The evening is too soon over! “Wicked fun” - as we say in New England! I leave the celebration, if not purified, at least in a pleasantly pagan flame of mind and with the feeling that Summer 2010 is off to a promising start. Beltane blessings to all and best of luck.

“Lang may your lum reek.” (Long may your chimney smoke) as they say in Scotland.

(for more on the Daktari/Scots-cowherd connection click on: Meet the Masai part 5 )

DAKTARI