MY AMAZING POSTHUMOUS POOCH

Buddy, our little 20 lb. female Shih Tzu, (yes, female) always was an impressive dog; if only for her willingness to please. But more than simply please, she was so obviously a dog intent on fulfilling the mission for which she had been created.

Buddy strolled up in our yard one day in early 1996. It was relatively cool at the time, and at the time I wasn’t keen on keeping a dog in my house. As a result, I banished the young dog to my garage; ‘til she ultimately “grew on me” and I relented. 

Sometime during the little season in which she called the garage her home, I happened to be uptown one day, and my wife had laid down for a nap. Suddenly, Jean heard the garage door open, and, subsequently, our newfound furry friend began barking. Just as quickly as the door went up, it went back down. I later found greasy footprints on the driveway.

And there was the time our daughter was experiencing marital problems, and had returned home. One day as “Nancy” lay in bed crying, Buddy ambled in, and laid down next to her on the floor. Although the little canine loved to ride in the car, and I was about to leave, and had posed the age-old question, (“Buddy wanna go,”) she would not relent. The precious pooch refused to walk out on our daughter during her time of need.

Then again, my wife had been feeling poorly, and our empathetic little rug rat had recently made a habit of following her around the house. Partly as a result of Buddy’s recurring pursuit, and partly because my wife’s emotions continued to degenerate, I urged her to make an appointment with her doctor. And after she submitted to all the requisite medical tests, Jean was diagnosed with cancer.

Could there be any question my little Buddy fulfilled her mission? (Well, she did). And she fulfilled it as well, and perhaps better than many human beings ever will.

Pt. 2


Who can deny that Buddy was a special dog? (As it fell together, she was more special than one might otherwise believe).

Thus, the title of this story:

“The Miraculous Posthumous Canine”

Yet, as the biblical prophet assures us,

"All flesh is like grass, and all their faithfulness is like the flowers of the field.” Isaiah 40:6


But perhaps Buddy had never read that particular scripture. (And at this juncture, and for whatever reason, I’m convinced that she was a rare exception to the rule).


There’s an adage out there which purports to explain the relatively short life span of dogs, and the divine reasoning which caused it to be so.


“Dogs don’t live very long because they don’t need much time to learn to be perfect.”


I believe it, and I believe my little Buddy was blessed, (and we with her) to experience some miraculous, and unforgettable posthumous events.


Our precious pooch had only recently “gone the way of all flesh,” and I was grieving her, as I had never grieved man or beast in my almost six decades of life.


One late evening, after I resorted to my bed, and was attempting to sleep, I sensed something; an extraordinary something. For something invisible, but which manifested weight, was suddenly lying against my right shoulder! And there was this uncanny sense of respiration! In and out. In and out. And while I don’t recall actually hearing that recurrent exchange of oxygen, the proximity of the being allowed me to feel it.


Pt. 3


Since my wife is a nurse, and we ‘enjoyed’ different schedules, she and I had long since maintained separate bedrooms. Buddy slept on my bed. And this dear little critter spent her last night on earth on my bed.


I can tell you that while I was surprised at this development, there was absolutely no fear. But rather, there was a sense of comfort, and the identity of my nocturnal visitor was readily apparent to me.


At this juncture, I can’t tell you how long the miraculous visitation lasted, perhaps as little as a minute, perhaps as many as five. And in like manner, I cannot begin to tell you whether the second manifestation occurred on the same, or on a different evening.


But as I was drifting off to sleep on that, or a different evening, I sensed a familiar something at my felt. 


I kept a pillow for Buddy at that end of the bed, and when wakefulness gave way to drowsiness, it was her practice to seek out that small piece of rectangular comfort. And while our dear pooch had ceased to live and breathe and move, the pillow remained in its same old place. (And though a decade has come and gone since she “gave up the ghost,” I have maintained the practice of lying a pillow at the foot of my bed).


But much like the previous episode, an invisible weight lay against my right foot. Invisible, yet tangible. And I felt that same sense of comfort. But I was afraid. Afraid to move. I wanted whatever grace I had been momentarily given to linger.


But as I recall, when I finally dared shift my position, the magic ended, and the weighty sensation with it.


Pt. 4

As I was walking in my neighborhood one evening, perhaps a month after the loss of my beloved Buddy, and I found myself reminiscing about the old girl,

…I saw it,

(or should I use a different pronoun)?

…I saw her.

Suddenly, not thirty feet ahead of me, what seemed to be a little white pooch appeared out of nothingness, slowly walked across my path way, and entered my neighbor’s front yard.

And as quickly as she appeared, she immediately relinquished her physicality.

I can’t account for why I was blessed to realize such momentary manifestations of my precious pooch. But at least for me there remains that quiet reassurance that our pets are alive and well, and reside in a land where the roses never fade, and no tear dims the eye.

There’s a poignant cartoon which depicts St. Peter standing at the pearly gates. Next to him is a dog thoroughly overcome with excitement. In the foreground we see an old man approaching the duo.

St. Peter bends his head towards ‘Rover’ and exclaims,

“So this is your friend, ‘Bobby,’ who you’ve been “going on about” for the past 50 years!”

I think one day my dear pooch and I will be reunited, and so like the cartoon to which I alluded, I like to believe my own little Buddy eagerly awaits my arrival there.

 by William McDonald, PhD. Copyright pending