As you read the case histories presented in this book, you may agree that each pet was instrumental in providing an opportunity for change and acted as an enhancement or sometimes a catalyst to their people’s spiritual growth.  After the death of a pet, many owners change their whole perspective as to the importance of sharing their lives with an animal.

    When I was eight or nine years old, I wanted a pet so badly.  Money was scarce at the time, and I suppose that would have been an additional, expensive burden on my family’s budget.  

    One summer day, I decided that, on my own, I would get a pet anyway and hide it from my family.  I sneaked a very long string from the cupboard drawer to act as a leash for my new pet.  Then I started my search.  I wasn’t allowed to leave the yard, so I was a bit limited.  Quite some time into this “safari,” I saw a very large beetle.  He, surely, couldn’t eat very much.  He would have to do.  I tied the string to one leg and proceeded to take “Linden” for a walk.  After a couple of steps and a bit of resistance, he began to fly.  That wasn’t in my plan.  We toured the yard a few times.  This wasn’t going to work.  He didn’t like to be petted, and I knew my Mom wouldn’t allow him to sleep on my bed.  I untied his leash and set Linden free.  He hadn’t fulfilled my need for a pet anyway. 

    Pets were not in my life until after I was married.  My ex-husband left me a legacy of two wonderful daughters and an introduction to the wonders of animals.  For this, I am grateful.

    My friend, Ruth, and I were in the habit of bringing so many strays home, he accused me of driving around with meat and the car door open in order to lure dogs into the car.  When they were brought home, we managed to locate their owners or find them a good home.

    Our daughters also shared a love of animals.  When my daughter, Susan, was in high school, she heard of a litter of puppies who were to be destroyed at birth.  She asked if we could take them if she could get permission from the dog’s caretaker.  (The owners were away on vacation.)  Of course, we said yes.  When the puppies were four days old, Susan brought them home.  We all took four-hour shifts around the clock in order to bottle feed them.  Even after being taken from their mother at such a young age, we didn’t lose any of them.  They all thrived.

    I didn’t dare name them.  Had I done so, I wouldn’t have been able to part with any of them.  Each prospective owner was interviewed, actually grilled, and not all of them passed muster.  Those, who did, agreed to give them the necessary shots and have them spayed or neutered.  It was also agreed that we could visit them after a year’s time.  When each puppy left the house, at the age of two months, I was in tears.  It was awfully hard to let them go.  I wanted to keep all of them.   The problem was that we already had three small dogs, and in my area, if you have more than three it is considered a kennel and must be licensed as such.

    One special female stole my heart, and I called her Little Brown One.  (Not an official name.)  At the end of a year, we visited them all.  When we arrived at Little Brown One’s house, the family was just driving into their driveway.  I was about 75 feet from the front door of their house, and I waited until they were ready to enter their home.  I got out of the car.  When the family opened their door, Little Brown One raced past them and, at top speed, leaped into my arms.  I wasn’t expecting that and reeled back a bit but was able to maintain my balance.  The family was puzzled by her behavior and said she had never acted that way before.  She stayed next to me for the entire visit.  When it was time to go, I shed some more tears and hated to leave her behind.

    How could she have remembered and recognized me?  She couldn’t get my scent from inside the closed house and from that distance.  There has to be a bond, or some special unspoken communication that takes place, that is unrecognized or not fully understood at this time, at least by humans.

    I feel all the animals that have shared my life have left me a legacy.  They demonstrated the meaning of unconditional love, compassion, acceptance, and loyalty.  They have helped me grow as a person and have enhanced any good qualities I may have.  Perhaps, they helped hone my positive attributes much faster than if I were left to learn these lessons on my own.  After each of my pets’ deaths, I was better able to face my own mortality and open my mind to things that are spiritual.  They were all excellent teachers.

    The contributors to this book have all experienced some form of communication with their deceased pets.  Some pets came in a dream or vision.  Others returned in a more profound manner.  Some owners would get just a brief glance, hear their familiar sound, smell their fur, or have a sense of their pet in the room.  It could be described as similar to the feeling of someone staring at you, yet no one is physically there.

    Before my dog, Barney, died, I had not experienced the return of any of my other beloved pets.  Maybe, I hadn’t listened or paid attention to what was going on.  If something did happen, perhaps, I trivialized it to explain it away or deny it entirely.

    Sandy, one of the contributors to this book, summed it up nicely and cited a quote attributed to Angela Monet: “Those who danced were thought to be quite insane by those who could not hear the music.” 

    Are you a dancer or a listener?  It is my hope that you are both.  If you are not, strive to be.  Your own Arf Angel or Heavenly Creature may help show you the way.

    It isn’t a surprise that we don’t hear about deceased pets’ souls, or spirits, remaining behind or staying on for a while after their death.  This is a subject that is rarely talked about.  It might be mentioned to an extremely close and accepting friend, but I have yet to hear it brought up in a conversation or even freely discussed within a family.

    My own experience was difficult to talk about, as I feared someone might think I was a bit unstable and unable to cope with the loss of my dear pet, Barney.  After several months of feeling him bump against the side of the bed, as he did to get my attention, I told my daughter, Susan, what was happening.  She was very supportive and open to any and all possibilities about what was going on.

    When I asked a veterinarian if he had heard of this type of phenomenon, he said he certainly had, but that it isn’t much talked about.  It was at that time, I decided to do research on the subject.  Most often, the people who related their stories to me requested anonymity.  Their reaction was much the same as mine.  Who wants to be labeled as a kook or risk being ridiculed?

    It is hoped, as you read this collection of stories, you will find that, indeed, your feelings are validated if you have had a similar experience.  Your heart may be warmed and your soul inflamed as you read what others have shared.  You may find a smile, a laugh, but expect a few tears as well.

    Most of these stories were typed through a few tears, which blurred my view.  I feel each story can teach about love, respect, trust, faith, and compassion.

    Why don’t we experience the return of all our deceased pets?  I haven’t an explanation.  In my case, I feel that each pet I owned helped me evolve spiritually and be more accepting and ready for the experience when it did happen.  Whatever the reason for Barney’s return, I am eternally grateful.