Flying with Four Legs: Memoirs of a Canine Avatar

By Jennet Inglis

From the author: During Xena's end-times I often supposed I ought to write her memoirs. Yes, without

question, to honor her. I also felt that in doing so the world might come to know one of

the truly great dogs of our time. However, selfishly, before her demise I also wondered if

doing so might lessen the inescapable fracturing of my psyche when her body was to be

no more. There was an abyss ahead, this was certain.

One afternoon about a year before she perished all became clear. We were resting

together quietly. Dancing up and down her lovely spine, photons of winter sunlight

sparkled blue and magenta on her wavy coal-black hair. Her all-seeing eyes held my

heart still. There it was then, surely, no doubt. My assignment. Xena asked me to cast

up for others the story of her life, beyond her wildest dreams.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dragon Hill Publishers
• Release date: Jan 26, 2024
• ISBN: 9780988447059

Book preview

I am Xena’s scribe. My name is Jennet.

Many a time, (okay, every day), during Xena’s long and magnificent life I felt I was in the timeless presence of a yogi master trained in meditation. Xena was, and still is, a wise being whose impassioned creative life was, and still is, far, far beyond my feeble metaphysical kite-flying.

Countless were the encounters whereupon a stranger, or a friend reacquainting themselves with Xena, would exclaim with a spark of surprise and awe:  "Xena’s sooo not a dog...! I think maybe she must be an extraordinary being who’s returned to us – except this time in a much easier form..." etc. What else could this be? What did it mean over and over again, the references to Xena’s elevated, often erudite, always omnipresent soul?  

Let’s be clear. I know not how to fully translate the complexity of Xena’s soul without painting some human traits and emotions onto the open canvas of her experience in a dog body. The true magnitude of Xena’s capacities for communication remains a mystery just barely touched upon here in her stories. The power of her psyche is almost impossible to describe – suffice it to say that she profoundly affected the lives of all who came in contact with her.

Xena’s stories are real; all of the events happened. This is true. As one story flows into another, is it real that Xena had the capacity to integrate and understand, on a very deep level, the events of her life... Is it real that Xena profoundly evolved... I shall say yes, and yes again, this was clear in real life. There is clear evidence that her learning curve was always in a vertical assent. One day after another. Xena’s IQ far exceeded mere vocabulary skills. Xena was a masterful problem solver. Even in her dotage, Xena’s brain function exhibited zero attrition, or senility. Her capacity to communicate never diminished, not one iota. 

This is also true. All the many years Xena and I spent together, she communicated with me via my spoken word, and our telepathic communication. (As well, the public record, shall we say, is chock-full with her lucid, albeit telepathic, suggestions and comments made to her friends, animal and human.) Thus, I have written Xena's memoir in the voice of her personality. I have transcribed for her the best of the many stories that tell of Xena’s mighty wisdom, her vital élan, and the impish humor intrinsic to her embodiment as a dog.

And here too, this is true. There are many who bestow upon me the notion of a benign, yet blessed, insanity. I dance in the stars and commune with angels. I do not see things as others do. My life and work shows this. I have extreme-genius autism with massively skilled productivity, and yet, seemingly, so very little talent with human relationships. Xena was of the very greatest service to me in this regard – embodiment and connectivity. 

Therefore it may be construed that this effort, Xena’s memoir, is yet another example of my course through the ethers around the moon. So be it. However, for this particular venture, I do hope at least Xena is satisfied. I apologize to the reader ahead of time if, in places, the text is perhaps over-burdened with earnestness, perhaps some minor embellishment, some might even say ostentation. Be sure. She was not the source; as her translator, I’ve merely overdone things a little bit.

Without question, Xena’s life is a triumph, she a champion; this hardly a case for modesty in the praising of the extraordinary dog named Xena.

Beginning

(part 1)

1

sad but true

I am a 9-pound coal-black spaniel. I started small and stayed small because I was...what you call... the runt of the litter. However, as it turned out, I got all the brains. Also, lots of courage. Lucky me.

My other body lifetimes as a philosopher, peace-maker, scientist and a poet were okay, but not as nearly as much fun as I would have liked. Nevertheless, it seems like some of those experiences stayed with me. However, this lifetime was a whole new assignment. As it all turned out I had the most fantastic life being a master of the Tao d’Cha, Ching, and Chow. (We’ll get to all that later.)

But here, the beginning part of my story is not so great. Sad but true. To understand why my life soared beyond knowing, this part needs telling. Please be patient with me. It will be over soon.

I was born trapped, as I learned later, in something called a puppy mill factory. We were all starving. For a little while we lived in a stinky wet box, all together. Then my brother, (who was solid black like me), and I were separated from our mother and litter-mates and put away in a dark bad place. Alone. I remember being very, very unhappy about those particular arrangements. Still, as miserable as my body was, I wanted to live.

No mother, dark room, cold floor, no water, no food, terrified brother...my long career as a problem-solver began at that early age. In other words, my first problem was a really big problem. Somehow surviving on the crumbs of food my brother left behind, my eyes were closed most of those first months of my life. Not because I wasn’t brave, I was. I was busy. You see, either awake with my eyes closed, or sleeping with my eyes open, my earliest days were spent in a series of long dreams.

My dreams were always the same. On the tips of the wings of an enormous and very beautiful white bird we flew, around and around a big blue ball. I craved the wild abandon of soaring in peaceful silence, orbiting with her through light and dark. We dreamed the mighty vision of another world.

I named my dream friend the Great White Dove when I was older. You’ll see why later on in the stories. So here, now with you, we will call her by that name.

Anyway, after months of eyes-open fright and more fright, and eyes-closed dreams and more dreams, through the bliss and peace of those dreams, I finally saw a potential solution to the really big problem of my life, so far – the problem of where my body was, and how to not die where my body was.

In my dreams, I asked the Great White Dove for her help. She had some suggestions.  

2

the Great White Dove

I’ve already told you; in the early days when I closed my eyes the Great White Dove was always there. Her underbelly was soft, and billowy and warm. I was always safe. And dry, and clean. There was always enough light, and I was never hungry. The wind swooshing gently over my body and ruffling my ears, made my eyes water just a little. The view from her wing tips was like no other.

When I was older riding with my head at the window of our car reminded me of flying with the Great White Dove. The cool summer breeze especially reminded me of my first dreaming. (In those dreams the bird looked just like the doves that lived in the mountains with us. So there she was named, my friend from the beginning.) Never the same view from the Dove’s wing-tips; but still, as we circled by and by the lanes of the rolling hills where my family and I first lived together, the green leaves of swaying trees sparkled with light - just like the glimmering stars in my dreams with the Great White Dove in the old-bad-place.

About my questions for solving my really big problem: the Great White Dove gave me very simple and clear instructions. She said she was going to send me some new dreams. I was to find a human in the dreams and that person would show me a life of wonder and love. The Great White Dove called my life the Cha, Ching and Chow.

She instructed me to open my eyes and my heart completely to my new life. I was told to have no more fear – just courage and love. I was to keep my eyes open, lift my chin, be curious, make a big effort, and adjust quickly to my new life.

The Great White Dove also emphasized, several times, that she would never leave me. And that I could always call upon her for help. The Great White Dove assured me I would be watched over, forever.

Before finding my new good life more bad things happened. One day my brother and I were taken out of the dark place and moved to another place. The first thing I remembered is that everywhere above our heads there was a welcoming bright light that looked exactly like where the Great White Dove and I traveled. This gave me courage.

But, (you know how this is going to go), we were definitely alone, again. The new place was very loud. My brother was so scared. I kept my eyes open; I never closed them. Together we found a huge metal box to hide behind. It smelled very bad, but not as bad as our first home. We were hungry and scared.

I think we were behind the box for two days and one night. I stayed quiet and hidden. I instructed my brother to bark, and bark, and bark. A man soon found us and picked us up. He put us in a cage in the back of his truck with lots of other cages, just like the old bad place.

We were taken to a place with more cages than I had ever seen. And more dogs that were so scared they barked all the time. My brother barked with them.

I made no noise. I closed my eyes and searched the skies for the Great White Dove. 

3

dreams come true

So it was, once upon that awful time, on the night of the first day spent at the new prison called the Humane Society of Albuquerque, the Great White Dove kept her promise.

The first night of the first day, after most of the dogs in the kennels had finally stopped barking and crying, I fell asleep. Pushing away the terror-trash vision of another day in my not-so-great life so far, I found the Great White Dove. She offered me her wing-tip and I climbed aboard.

We flew for a while. Then she carefully and gently dropped me off her wing into another dream. So I was not in the dream flying with her, I was in another dream. There in that dream was the same human from the dreams.  

In the new dream the very tall lady seemed surprised to see me. Her smile was bright and warm. (That was new; I’d never seen a human smiling.)

Of course, in my dream, I rushed over to her and wagged my tail. (That was new too.) I don’t remember wagging my tail even once because in my life there was nothing to be happy about.

The lady looked me in the eyes and asked, Who are you? I could not answer. The she asked, Where are you? You already know this: not only did I have absolutely no idea where my brother and I were currently imprisoned, but I did not know who I was, and I had no name. I knew only three things: prison, I still had a brother, and the Great White Dove. 

Not knowing how to answer the nice lady’s questions, I smiled, wagged my tail more, and then scooted off. In the flash of a wing-beat, the Great White Dove swooped down and gathered me up. The first dream ended. I awoke to what seemed like hundreds of dogs barking for their breakfast.

Another day spent in prison.

The second night the Great White Dove visited me again. She dropped me into the same lady’s dreams.