Animals and the Afterlife (32 page)
Saxon and Blue
June Reichenback, Retired Nurse/School Office Assistant New South Wales, Australia
W
E HAD TWO DOGS
, Blue (a blue heeler) and Saxon (a German shepherd), who died within six months of one another, at roughly the same age, ten years, both from illness. After a break of a year, my son decided to get another shepherd pup, and we talked about how the old ones would have felt. Anyway, one night I was home in the lounge room on my own (my husband and younger son were in Austria at the time) when all of a sudden one of the ceiling globes just fell down onto the table but did not break, which was strange, as they were screwed in and could not just come loose; and while I was sitting pondering this, one of the tennis balls our old Blue used to play with just rolled into the room on its own.
I got chills down my spine and asked my other son, who lives in a different part of the house, if he had thrown it but he said no, he hadn’t been anywhere near the lounge room. We then decided it must have been our two old dogs giving their approval for the new one. That is the only explanation we could come up with, and it’s what we like to think happened.
Kim’s note:
Our beloved animals in spirit want us to be happy, and they do indeed approve of new animals who come into our lives to bring us love.
Casey
Sherry A. Warrick, Retired Registered Nurse California
M
Y BEST FRIEND
, a golden retriever named Casey, died from cancer. I was devastated by his passing and was looking for some word from him that he was okay. I never got a chance to say good-bye to him.
My roommate had received some after-death communications from loved ones, and she did from Casey as well. His picture, which was hanging on her bedroom wall, suddenly fell to the floor several days after he died. Other pictures remained on the wall.
I know it was him and that he is okay. I still miss and think about him every day, but it gives me great comfort to believe that he tried to contact and reassure me and is still here with us.
Kim’s note:
At first, Sherry felt that her roommate had received a sign while she herself hadn’t. However, she came to realize that the sign wasn’t merely intended for her roommate—the photo of Casey just happened to be hanging on her roommate’s wall. It’s important that we remain open to signs in whatever form they may appear, and remember to validate them when they come. When I later contacted Sherry, she had received other signs as well….
After Casey’s picture fell off the wall in my roommate’s room, I put his Christmas stocking (with his name on it) on the fireplace the following Christmas. A day or so later, I found it lying on the floor. It had fallen off the fireplace, while the remaining stockings were in place. It was just like the picture that had fallen!
I have had more contacts with loved ones and from other animals. My second golden retriever, Maggie, died last October. Her death was very different from Casey’s, and I was with her when she was euthanized. She visited me that night. I “smelled” her very distinctly, and I know it was her.
Buddi
Kathleen S. DeMetz, Attorney Ohio
I
USED TO BRING MY TWO DOGS
, Sammy and Harry, to visit my sister Linda’s two dogs, Buddi and Benji, in Minnesota. We had Christmas stockings for them, dressed them up in sweaters, and took pictures of the four dogs. They were all small dogs and looked very cute together. When Buddi and the other dogs were together, we would also have birthday parties if it was one of their birthdays. I loved all four dogs.
When Buddi, one of my sister’s dogs, died, she called me long- distance from Minnesota to tell me. I was lying in bed thinking about Buddi, and I said, “I didn’t have a chance to say good-bye to you; good-bye, Buddi.” Just then I heard a crash in the next bedroom in my home. I found that a picture of dogs had crashed to the floor. That picture has been hanging in my home for fifteen years and has never fallen before that or after that. I believe it was Buddi’s way of saying good-bye to me.
Kim’s note:
Shortly after Kathleen shared this story, her own beloved dog, Sammy, passed. His story follows….
Sammy
Kathleen S. DeMetz, Attorney Ohio
I
GOT
S
AMMY WHEN HE WAS EIGHT MONTHS OLD
, from an ad in the paper that said, “Free to good home: poodle mix.” It was love at first sight. He was like a Benji dog, half poodle, half terrier; a little black ball of fur. I just adored this little dog. We had the most special relationship.
I had him before I had the kids. When Sammy eventually died, my kids were twelve and ten. Sammy was almost sixteen. When we took him to be euthanized, we held him and told him that we loved him, and I said, “Sammy, if you can give me a sign that you are okay, I’d really appreciate it.”
My daughter said that the night before he died she had a dream, and in the dream Sammy said, “I love you. I have to go now.” Then when we were on the way to the emergency vet, my son said he got a message: “I love you. You have always been loyal and kind.”
After he died, I was terribly grief-stricken. Sammy died on a Saturday. The following Monday when I arrived home from work, I was in my car and I was thinking,
Oh, Sammy, I hope you are chasing butterflies.
I opened my car door, and a big orange butterfly flew through the open door two inches from my face and out the other side. I haven’t seen a butterfly at home since.
Then I went for a walk and I encountered some ladies who also have little dogs that Sammy had played with. One of the ladies said that when her dog died, a butterfly came and landed on her head. At the time, she had no idea about the symbolism of the butterfly, like metamorphosis—from caterpillar to butterfly, like a resurrection. She didn’t know what it meant until someone told her. Then this other neighbor lady said to me, “Look at my shirt.” She had a butterfly shirt on. She said she was going to wear an old navy shirt to go out on her walk, but something told her to wear the butterfly shirt instead. I took that as another sign.
I brought Sammy’s ashes home on his birthday. The next day, I was driving down the road. I had been driving for at least twenty minutes and I didn’t have my radio on. A lot of times I don’t put the radio on in the car, but something said in my head, “Turn on the radio and put on 90.3.” So I put on 90.3 and there was a story on there—I could tell it was the end of the story. I couldn’t figure out what was going on—they were talking about the President and some little country, and I’m thinking,
Why am I listening to this?
Then that story ended and the next story that came on was about animal rights. They started telling all these horrible things about the life some dogs have and all these things that happen to these dogs. Then this thought popped in my head:
These dogs had a horrible life. I had a beautiful life; thank you.
I also received many other signs. All of these things happened within five days. I said, “Sammy, you are giving me an awful lot of messages. I want to thank you. This is wonderful. Why are you giving me so many?” Then I got a thought in my head that said, “So that you can tell other people so that they can be comforted.”
Kim’s note:
One year later, Kathleen had the following to add….
My sister had a little black dog named BJ who looked just like my Sammy, only smaller. BJ and Sammy used to visit each other, and I loved BJ very much, too. When BJ died, my niece told him to come and say good-bye to me. BJ died on a Saturday. The following Monday, I came home from work, and there was a butterfly sitting on my garage door! I couldn’t open the door without fear of injuring him, so I went up to him and put my finger by him, and he jumped on my finger. He then flew back to the garage door. I put out my finger again. He jumped on my finger, and then flew back to the garage door again. I then thought,
How am I going to get in the garage?
and put out my finger a third time. He jumped on it again and then flew and landed on the house, next to the garage door.
He remained in that spot from 5:30
P.M
. until at least four hours later when I went to bed. When I got up in the morning, he was gone. The butterfly looked like the one I saw when Sammy died, only
smaller,
just as BJ looked like Sammy, only smaller. I am sure that this was BJ’s way of saying good-bye to me!
Dear God,
If we come back as humans, is that good or bad?
—
FROM
P
ETS
’ L
ETTERS TO
G
OD BY
M
ARK
B
RICKLIN
W
HEN
I
WAS GROWING UP
, one of my best friends was a dog named Charger. My parents had gotten him as a surprise for my brother and me (after our incessant begging, “Please, can we get a dog?”), and he had instantly become a special and memorable part of our family.
Charger was a sheltie, but we called him a “miniature collie” because that’s what he looked like. He was a reject from a long line of show dogs because one of his ears didn’t stand up “properly,” but to me, he was perfect.
Charger and I enjoyed daily walks, and when I was at home going about my business, he often just sat nearby and watched me intently. I sometimes wondered if he felt it was his job to watch over me, and I often got the feeling that he understood my words and thoughts; but more than that, I always got the feeling that he simply enjoyed watching me to see what I was going to do next (much like we humans enjoy watching other animals as they go about
their
business).
When Charger and I returned from long hikes in the nearby canyons, he always had burrs entangled in the long fur on his front paws. So, a regular ritual of ours was to work together on getting them out. He would sit and patiently watch as I separated his fur to loosen each burr, and then he would finish the job by pulling the loosened burr out carefully between his teeth. It was a ritual we both enjoyed, and I always noticed how strong our connection was during those moments.
It was always a challenge for me to get a suntan, because whenever I donned a swimsuit and headed out to lie on a lounge chair in the backyard, Charger patiently looked on as I spread suntan lotion over my skin; then, as soon as I finished and settled down for a snooze in the sun, he climbed up on top of me and spread himself over me, almost as if he was trying to protect me from the sun! I told him I didn’t actually
want
any shade just then, but I couldn’t help but laugh and thank him for this sweet and very predictable gesture of his. He seemed delighted that I had come to join him for a nap, so I didn’t have the heart to turn him away.
Charger lived to be just short of nine years old. It’s amazing how quickly the time goes. The last time I saw him was when my parents and I rushed him to the vet for some tests, to find out why he had suddenly stopped eating, could no longer stand up, and was moaning in obvious agony. We were told to leave him there, and that the vet’s office would call us as soon as they knew anything.
As it turned out, the vet discovered a huge, inoperable tumor in his abdomen and advised that he not be awakened from the anesthesia. I cried my heart out later that afternoon when my parents informed me that Charger wouldn’t be coming home. My biggest regret, besides the fact that I hadn’t been able to take away his pain when he was alive, was that I never got the chance to say good-bye, to be there with him, right to the end.
Several years after Charger passed, I was in college and living on my own in an apartment. My brother, Scott, was also living on his own. He had adopted a sweet young female mixed-breed dog from a local shelter, whom he named Reindeer. Scott and I then decided to become roommates, so we found a condo with a nice yard for Reindeer, and we all moved in together.
It was so wonderful to have an animal back in my life, and Reindeer and I bonded right away. We enjoyed daily walks, and when I was at home going about my business, she often just sat nearby and watched me intently. I sometimes wondered if she felt it was her job to watch over me, and I often got the feeling that she understood my words and thoughts; but more than that, I always got the feeling that she simply enjoyed watching me to see what I was going to do next (much like Charger had done before her). I had missed Charger since he had passed, so it was wonderful to have someone back in my life who reminded me so much of him.
Once again, it became a challenge for me to get some color on my fair skin. Whenever I decided to lie on a lounge chair in the backyard, Reindeer patiently looked on as I applied suntan lotion; then, as soon as I finished and settled down for a snooze in the sun, she climbed up on top of me and spread herself over me, just as Charger had always done! This gesture became more comforting to me than I could have ever imagined.
I had always regretted not being there when Charger died. Then, shortly after Reindeer entered my life, I was given an opportunity to do things differently. Within a year, Reindeer began having seizures. After many trips to several veterinarians, no one was able to determine what was wrong with her. However, her health continued to decline dramatically, and my brother and I eventually found ourselves faced with the decision of euthanasia.
Ultimately, we decided it was the right thing to do, and I cried all night on the eve of the appointment, watching helplessly as Reindeer endured seizure after seizure. The next morning, we took her on that final trip to the vet. My brother and I held her tenderly and told her how much we loved her as she drifted peacefully to the Other Side. As we instinctively looked up above her lifeless body and simultaneously waved good-bye to her spirit, which we somehow knew was hovering lovingly above us, I felt surprisingly at peace. Reindeer had given me the opportunity to be with her at her passing, which I had always wished I could have done with Charger.
My experience with Reindeer taught me the importance of opening up to love again, despite having lost before and knowing that loss will inevitably come again. I also learned how comforting it can be to have a companion animal with such similar behaviors as a former beloved animal. However, it wasn’t until much later that I began to wonder if, perhaps, these animals with such similar behaviors might, in fact,
be
the same animals.
I had begun entertaining such a concept after June’s passing, when I was assured by so many different people that she would be returning to me one day. The idea had been further reinforced on that magical day when I found myself face-to-face with a little brown mouse on the window screen (as described in Chapter 4). Then, as my animal family grew, more magical experiences opened my mind further.
A
S A CHILD
, I always felt that I, myself, had lived before. This wasn’t something I was taught; it was something I just felt inside. I had clear, very specific, recurring dreams of being a different person of a different gender in a different time, and I always felt that these were past-life memories. Though I was, in reality, a child, I was a grown adult in these recurring dreams, and I always relived my own death. The part I found fascinating was the fact that the dreams didn’t end at death; in these dreams, I always marveled at how I was able to experience my own death in great detail and then continue on beyond death, as a spirit, still very much alive and aware of what was going on, but no longer feeling any pain or fear.
These dreams felt incredibly real and always contained very specific details that couldn’t have occurred in my current lifetime. It felt as though I was being reminded of where I came from, as though I was being shown that death was not the end, but rather, a transition; and I somehow felt that I was supposed to share this with others, though I had no idea why. When I did share this with others, I got the feeling they thought I was nuts, so eventually, I learned to keep it to myself. These apparent past-life memories seeped into my waking life as well, giving me the impression that this was simply the way things were. However, when I asked about this in school and in church, I was told I was wrong, that such things weren’t so; and I got the impression that I was doing something terribly wrong by even
suggesting
such possibilities. So, eventually, I figured I must have been mistaken.
It wasn’t until my second year in college that I began to entertain such possibilities once again. I came across some thought-provoking, well-documented, and highly convincing accounts of reincarnation, and for the first time I felt validated in my own childhood notions. However, none of these accounts involved animals, so I never even considered that this possibility might hold true for them as well—that is, until my animal friends began to teach me otherwise.
M
AGGIE
H
OULIHAN
, the woman from whom Jameth and I adopted little Jonathan (our first rat after June’s passing), has become a great friend over the years since then. She is an amazing woman who does a tremendous amount of good on behalf of animals of all types. One October day, she rescued three female rats from the pound, who unexpectedly gave birth to an abundance of babies shortly thereafter. Maggie was heading out of town on business and asked if we could keep them while she was gone. At the time, Jameth and I only had two rats (Henry and Ginger), so our rat family instantly grew from two to twenty. When Maggie returned, she and I worked together to adopt as many of the new arrivals out to good homes as possible, and the rest stayed. So, four of the babies and one of the moms, whom we named Mom (the name stuck), became permanent members of our family.
We only adopted the rats out in groups of two or more (and still do, as rats, like many other animals, are very social beings who generally require the company of other members of their own species for their optimum well-being). I worked with animal communicators throughout the adoption process as we decided which rats wanted to stay together and what types of homes/people would best suit them. The first appointment I made was with animal communicator Gail De Sciose.
At first, Gail said she was a little overwhelmed, as she had never before tried to communicate with so many animals at once. So, we decided to have her connect with just the females. (The males and females were now separated, as they had been weaned and I certainly didn’t want to be responsible for any further babies.)
As soon as Gail connected with the female rats, there was one in particular whose spirit she instantly recognized, and she told me that this rat had been with us in the past; she had been one of our former rats, who had died and was now back in a new body. Before Henry and Ginger had come into our lives, we had had our previous family of five rats (Jonathan, Katey, April, Cindy, and Samantha) who had all eventually died. Gail had communicated with them in the past, so I realized that what she was saying
could
be possible. It then occurred to me that this particular rat (the one she said she recognized) didn’t seem at all afraid of us, as virtually all of the other new rats were, and she actually acted as if she
recognized
us.
Interestingly, later that same day I watched in amazement as this particular rat, whom we later nicknamed Stinker (and the name stuck because of her mischievous behavior), climbed down from the table on which the moms and all of the other female babies were living in a big cage. (The boys were now living in a cage of their own on a separate table.) The cage doors were kept open because I just couldn’t stand the idea of such active animals being locked up. So, I had attached strips of Plexiglas along the edges of the tables, creating a small railing of sorts, to prevent them from accidentally falling off the edge. Most of them would venture out onto the tables, where I had set up little playgrounds with things to climb and explore, but they never dared even
attempt
to climb off the tables into the “great unknown.” Like the others, Stinker was still a baby and had never ventured off the table before, yet she now climbed over the railing and down the leg of the table very confidently, as if she knew exactly what to expect when she reached the ground.
She instantly began making her rounds throughout our home, going to all of the exact hangouts that our former rat family had frequented. Many of these hangouts were very unique spots that had to be climbed up to and, in fact, had previously had ladders leading up to them. She just looked up toward each of these spots and then climbed up very deliberately, as if she was already expecting the comfortable haven she would find at her destination.
Our former rat family members had all followed a very specific routine, hanging out in different parts of our home at different times of day, ending up in their favorite nest on top of a filing cabinet next to the front door, and then, like clockwork, heading off to their cage on the top shelf of the walk-in closet in the bedroom at precisely ten o’clock every night (I never could figure out how they knew it was ten o’clock, as my personal routine is not nearly so reliable).