Finding Artemis: Coping with Pet Loss Through Archetype

My talisman: Labradorite and Shed Antler - found at the Junk Gypsy Co. booth at the Houston Rodeo, https://gypsyville.com

In honor of the Full Moon in Sagittarius (The Archer), I’m going to write about a very difficult topic.

TW: domestic abuse, eating disorder, pet loss, euthanasia, hunting, death.

It’s hard to decide where to begin, describing this particular scene in the tapestry of my life. I can trace the threads back to childhood, and though many of those seemed so insignificant at the time, I can now look back in wonder at the intricate details that are, even now, ever-unfolding.

First, how I found Artemis.

…

It was simple, really. The first time Artemis came into my life, I was in early middle school, and was presented with a Greek Mythology project in one of my classes. We were to pick a deity from the pantheon and create a presentation; I can’t say that I had ever given much thought to this, outside of a hurried overview of the subject in my previous homeschooling/christian classical education. It was all idolatry, after all, the poor ancient Greeks being so mistaken, and their faith so grievously misplaced.

I don’t know what drew me to Artemis all those years ago - perhaps it was that she wielded a bow (and at the time my lifelong love of Lord of the Rings - aka, my crush on Legolas, aka, my not-so-secret desire to be Elvish - was just ramping up). Perhaps it was that she was always depicted with animals by her side, something I could whole-heartedly endorse. Perhaps it was that she was associated with the moon, frequently pictured with a crescent moon on her brow.

Whatever it was, she was the one I picked, and that seemed to be that.

What comes next?

Ah, yes.

Wimzy.

…

It’s almost like I was walking along one day (circa 2017), and it hit me like a bolt out of the blue: I’m going to adopt a French bulldog. She will be named Wimzy.

After some searching, I found her, and she changed my life forever.

I had grown up with all sorts of animals in rural Tennessee: cats, outdoor dogs, lizards, horses, donkeys…But never in my life had I had an indoor pup of my own, and let me tell you, it was a HUGE adjustment for me. Having only ever had indoor cats, I had to get into a whole new rhythm of life - a cycle so familiar to so many, but it was brand new to me.

In the midst of this was a period of personal turmoil in which I realized I was a mere shell of the person I really was. My marriage had been falling apart for years, and matters were becoming serious. I found myself in the middle of an insidious eating disorder, and all I could do was numbly look at my ever-thinning frame in the mirror. The obstacles to freedom in my life were growing larger in my mind every day, and I lacked the self-confidence to do anything about them; the control and the emotional and psychological abuse of my spouse had very effectively done the job.

There were three rays of sunshine in my life, however. My two amazing cats, Milo and Winston, and my sweet pup, Wimzy.

They gave me something to protect in my volatile situation, and on the last night of it all, I found myself huddled with a trembling and terrified puppy inside her play pen, and who knows where the cats were hiding. We were all trembling after he nearly punched a hole in the wall, shouting at the top of his lungs, then left abruptly.

I thank my guardian angels that I woke up that night.

In the dark and early days of the separation, if I hadn’t had Wimzy to get me outside regularly, I don’t know what I would’ve done. Her joyful and noisy demeanor became such a fixture in my life (as well as with my kitty boys - they would roll in the floor, nap with her, and bathe her all the time). If I didn’t hear her incessant snorting, I knew that someone was up to no good. The four of us settled into a happy rhythm, and through the many difficulties I was facing, despite the mountains I had to move in order to pick up the pieces of my life, we had each other. I had fully embraced my new role as a dog mom, and I absolutely loved it.

…

Despite being from rural Tennessee, my immediate family was not a hunting family. In fact, it seemed like we were one of the few in our area, and actually considered our farm to be a sanctuary for wildlife, no hunting allowed. We had deer and turkey, and a few little wood ducks would frequently be seen on the ponds. I had never shot a gun in my life, and I had absolutely zero interest in doing so. The most I had shot was my grandfather’s cross-bow as a younger kid, and had missed the hay bale so badly that the arrow went kerplunk into the door of the shed. Pa was so proud of the hole in that door and would tell the story to anyone who would listen, caring or not.

One of my best friends is an avid hunter and outdoor sportsman, and I got to spend some time with him and his family on their ranch in Texas. It was on this trip that he changed my view of hunting forever, and it was on this trip that I shot my first gun: a .22 gauge rifle. Turns out, these days I’m a killer shot.

After many long conversations with my friend about his philosophy of ethical hunting, conservation, and wildlife management, my eyes were opened to a whole new understanding. Granted, there are still people out there who hunt only for sport, trophies, etc., and I still vehemently oppose that mindset, but what I learned in those conversations was that when hunting is carried out with reverence, there is an element of mercy. My friend helped me understand the act of stewardship.

The book Women Who Run With the Wolves by Clarissa Pinkola Estes (affectionately dubbed my “Wolf Bible” - and in my opinion should be read by any and all female-identifying beings under the sun), speaks to this act of stewardship:

“What must I give more death to today, in order to generate more life? What do I know should die, but am hesitant to allow to do so? What must die in me in order for me to love? What not-beauty do I fear? Of what use is the power of the not-beautiful to me today? What should die today? What should live? What life am I afraid to give birth to? If not now, when?”

And:

“The one who re-creates from that which has died is always a double-sided archetype. The Creation Mother is always also the Death Mother and vice versa. Because of this dual nature, or double-tasking, the great work before us is to learn to understand what around and about us and what within us must live, and what must die.”

I had never understood this concept truly until it was placed in context with ethical hunting and wildlife stewardship.

The dual nature of the Creation/Death/Creation Mother, the Life/Death/Life cycle.

It is the way of Nature itself.

…

I’m sobbing now. The memory of this time is still so very raw.

One morning I woke up and found my pup in acute distress - her back legs had stopped working, and she was struggling to breathe. I rushed her to the emergency clinic, and by the end of the day, I had two choices. Choice one: emergency surgery, and even after that her prognosis was desperately grim. She would never walk again. She wasn’t even two years old. Choice two: well, you’ve probably figured that out by now. I had to make a pretty quick decision, and the choice I made was excruciating.

I’m just glad that I got to be with her at the very end, holding her in my arms as her sweet soul departed.

Just try to tell me that animals don’t have souls. It’s one fight I’m so willing to have, especially after that awful day.

I quickly realized how much of a dog mom I had become in my too-brief time with Wimzy:

To this day,

I howl over the memory of her.

…

In the weeks leading up to Wimzy’s accident, I had found myself thinking about Artemis again. It coincided beautifully with the new understanding I had come to over hunting, and I was curious to learn more about her, and go a little deeper.

Quoted from Otherworldly Oracle:

“Who is Artemis, Goddess of the Hunt?

When I think of the wild woman archetype, Artemis always pops into my mind first. She’s wild in more than one way - a forest-dweller and hunter who lives outside the monotonous laws of society. But not only is she wild in this way - she’s also known as the eternal virgin - chaste from any man or god’s physical touch. She couldn’t be captured, wed, or tamed. A TRUE role model for the modern woman!

…Does it seem funny to you that Artemis isn’t just the Goddess of the Hunt and the Eternal Virgin, but she’s also a Goddess of Childbirth? With many ancient goddesses, these paradoxes arise to test and stretch our minds and hearts. The myth goes that Artemis aided her mother Leto in birthing her twin brother Apollo (it was apparently a difficult delivery). Because of this act, Artemis was called upon during many deliveries in ancient Greece and today she is a fierce protector of mothers and children. At the same time, Artemis spins the wheel of fate for laboring mothers - she decides who lives and who dies (another paradox - life and death).”

There it is again!

Life/Death/Life.

In the days after I chose to exercise that power, all the threads began to converge in the fog of my deep sorrow:

On that day, I had made a compassionate choice. I had taken my role as a Steward of this precious creature’s life seriously. I had stepped into my Wild Woman knowing and power. As the Huntress, I had to make a quick decision, aim with precision, and fire. With my Artemis spirit, I had ended a life, and was forever changed, but new life was just around the corner.

Here’s a beautiful aspect to the story.

My mom had the idea to start a fund at my regular vet clinic in Wimzy’s memory - we called it Wimzy’s Wings. It exists to help those who, like myself, would not be able to afford emergency procedures, should they choose that route.

How amazing that, all those years ago, I picked Artemis for my school project. How could I have imagined the dark days ahead and the hard decisions to be made? How could I have dreamed of the foundational and formational wisdom that would be bestowed upon me in my Womanhood?

All that remains is a perpetual state of gratitude and awe in the presence of:

Life.

Death.

Life.

Death.

Life.

For further reading:

https://otherworldlyoracle.com/goddess-of-the-hunt/

Pinkola Estes, Clarissa. Women Who Run With the Wolves.