Wild Hearts
“What is it about these fucking animals?
They don’t ask permission; they just walk right into your heart!”
Just before the first of the year, my heart, more tender than ever - as I allow more love to flow through, took a sucker punch. Can one take a sucker punch to the heart? Possible or not, that sensation, ripping my breath away and causing tears to flow, knocked me for a loop on December 27th. It was on this day that I learned of Shaka's death.
Just a few months ago, I posted "Shaka's Story." As a South African cheetah, he wasn't a being I shared meals with, slept next to, or even spent more than 70 days within walking radius of, and yet, my experience of this magical being touched me profoundly.
Over these last three years, I've been grateful to meet and offer a bit of supervised care and feeding to a dozen cheetahs. The Dell Cheetah Centre affords volunteers a unique opportunity to experience the beauty and wildness of this endangered species, while supporting conservation and continued survival of earth's fastest land mammal.
While interaction of any kind with a living cheetah is extraordinary, Shaka was the one who walked into my heart and took up residence. Even in death, I cannot evict him. I have been working on finding his current rightful place, as this loss rocked me far more than I ever could have anticipated.
As I write these first few paragraphs, I'm sitting at a picnic table at the Cheetah Centre with the night winds kicking up the dust and singing through the leaves, cooling the temperature from today's mid-nineties to a delightful 72 degrees. Cheetahs rest in camps all around me, while Shaka's remains empty.
Like all grief, the waves roll in - some gentle memories, while others crash and tumble my bereft heart on the rocks of his absence. What becomes of the magic that's left my world?
Shaka with Georgia Holmes
When I left Dell in October, at the close of The Divinity Adventure Retreat, I fully expected to see Shaka again this January, while on holiday with my husband. Only weeks later, word reached me that dire financial circumstances forced this non-profit organization to sell my beloved friend to keep the project going.
The solution offered by Georgia Holmes, co-manager of the Centre, and heart-mother of Shaka, was to raise enough funds, so that she might purchase Shaka. He would continue to reside at Dell, where Georgia lives, works, and could offer daily love and care. Many of you read about this in a prior newsletter, and more than I expected generously donated to support Georgia, Shaka, Dell...and, because you knew I loved him, me. My gratitude knows no bounds. And guess what? You did it!
Your contributions, combined with a host of other donors, helped to fund "Keeping Shaka Home." And two weeks after signing the paperwork, he showed signs of physical distress. Georgia immediately contacted the vet, and for two solid days, blood was taken, tests were done, fluids and meds were administered through an IV, and just after 3am on Christmas morning, Shaka succumbed to kidney failure. All the kings horses and all the kings men could not put him back together again, and no one could have tried harder than his Mama.
Kidney failure remains the leading cause of death for cheetahs in captivity (true, too, for house cats). Cheetahs in the wild have many other threats facing them...lack of genetic diversity, less land for hunting and living, natural predators, and, of course, humans who kill them. The average lifespan of a cheetah in the wild is seven years. I've met cheetahs in captivity that reached 11+ years. It seems, though, that stress of any kind can impact their fragile kidneys.
The beautiful property, where the Dell Cheetah Centre is located has mineral-rich well water for all its residents to drink (human and animal). To me, loaded with minerals sounds positive, but, in fact, the lime, calcium, and other deposits have the potential to stress the system - particularly the kidneys. It's believed that this may have contributed to Shaka's untimely demise.
The folks at Dell, ever advocates for their beloved cheetahs, hope to alleviate this stress by installing a water filtration system at the source. Of course, this will take funds, which are not readily available at the moment, so I'm hoping they will be launching a funding campaign for those who wish to contribute to support the survival of cheetahs in this new way.
In the meantime, as I now sit in a lovely apartment in Cape Town, reflecting on my time at Dell, I feel well-loved by the universe. I feel loved by all of you who donated funds for Shaka, because you knew he mattered to me; and I feel loved by whatever greater energy manifests the timing of how things happen.
The day Mark and I arrived at the Cheetah Centre, a backhoe was scheduled to arrive to scoop out a bit of earth for Shaka's grave. The hot, dry weather, combined with the rockiness of the soil, made manual digging impossible these last weeks. Because the living cheetahs, servals, caracals and other creatures take precedence over the dead, it still took a few days for Shaka's burial to be complete. And as one last gift, to him/from him, I participated.
I asked Georgia if she needed to have this closure space for just she and Michael (her partner in life and in co-managing the Centre). She sweetly told me, "Don't cry, but there is no one else I'd rather have present for him." And then, we both cried.
Shaka with Georgia and Michael
On the morning of his burial, Georgia and I went out to buy flowers for this wild being who'd captured our hearts. We also bought four potted succulents, with the hope that they might survive the African sun. Present for the burial were: Georgia, me, and the men who love us. Before the first scoop of dirt fell upon this magical being, I dropped in a note of love and gratitude, as part of my final good-bye.
Each of us took turns shoveling, until two of the Dell staff, came to assist. When they had completed a portion, and took a break from the heat, our beloved men picked up the shovels and finished the job, while Georgia and I planted the succulents. It felt like a way of saying, the four of us stand with you, even in death, with love and appreciation for who you were. Or as Michael said, "I didn't personally have a connection with Shaka, but for who he was to Georgia, and the joy he brought her, I appreciated him. And, I'm glad the people who loved him were here to bury him."
How much love, gratitude, and sadness can one person possibly feel simultaneously? I don't know, but if the tear stains on my face, the dirt beneath my fingernails, and the warm presence of my loving husband picking up the shovel where the staff members left off provides an indicator, the well of emotion is indeed deep and expansive.
As if all of this kismet timing weren't enough, Georgia gifted me a precious plaque - the name plate that hung on Shaka's enclosure, so that I may have a tangible part of him with me. I plan to frame it, and hang it above my alter, adding a little Shaka-magic to my space dedicated to meditation and prayer. Thank you, again, for that, Georgia.
Dear reader, may the wild ones who enter YOUR heart without permission be ever tattooed there, in the name of love.
With love and gratitude,
Joanne Lutz