As I
laid down for a nap yesterday, and my feet settled against a pillow at the foot
of my bed, I experienced a moment of insight which had escaped me for just
short of a decade and a half.
My
little Buddy used to lay on a pillow at the foot of my bed, as we retired for
the night, and she did so on a recurring basis over the course of ten years.
And as has been the case since the dawn of creation, among man and beast,
alike, there came a day when she prepared to meet her Maker.
Strange,
about a week before that memorable day, I was holding her in my arms, and she
began to shiver. Upon reflection, I wondered if she was experiencing some sort
of premonition of what lay just ahead of her.
My
precious pooch had not been eating well, and as unusual as it may sound, the
last morsel of food she ate was a sliver of chocolate. I know. There is the
admonition that you not feed your dog chocolate. But I had always given her a
wee bit of the sugary stuff when I chose to eat it. And it never seemed to harm
her, nor any of my other dogs, in the slightest.
And
then came that last all-too memorable night.
It had
only been ten years since the little Shih Tzu wandered up into our yard. At the
time she could not have been a year old. Not long after her death, I surmised
she had succumbed to liver failure, the result of years of steroidal
medication; prescribed for severe allergies, and which prevented her from
scratching her eyes out.
Buddy
only began displaying the most overt symptoms of her fast-approaching demise
after we retired that night. She began hyperventilating, and after she’d done
this for a few minutes, her breathing slowed perceptively. And this pattern
continued for the next six or eight hours.
And
though it was excruciating to watch, I could not put her on her doggie bed, or
transfer her to another room in the house. Couldn’t, shouldn’t, wouldn’t. I had
stood beside her this far, and she me, and I would see her through this almost
intolerable night. Of course, I realized she was not long for this world, and I
did my best to soothe her fears, and help her make the passage from this life
to the next.
And of
course, I experienced little or no sleep that night, and I somehow acclimated
to Buddy’s laborious breathing; knowing that she was on the threshold of the
proverbial rainbow bridge. And as the first rays of the morning sun played on
the fringes of the light blue curtain which graced my bedroom window, I looked
into the eyes of my dear little pooch, and understood how close she was. And
then I noticed the pasty pallor of her little tongue. And I knew she was close.
And indeed, minutes later she pitter patted across the flower-strewn,
well-traveled old bridge.
I have
previously written about several ethereal manifestations I experienced over the
next couple or three weeks, including the sudden appearance and almost
immediate disappearance of a small white pooch during one of my nightly
neighborhood strolls.
Pt. 3
A
couple or three nights after my little Buddy passed from here to there, I was
attempting to sleep when I sensed the presence of something beside me. However,
it was so much more than a sensation since this ethereal being, though
invisible, had assumed weight, and I felt it, (or should I say “her”) lying
hard against my right shoulder.
And
then… respiration. Breathing such as a small furry critter might manifest.
Neither extremely fast, nor extremely slow.
However,
if you have not yet forgotten it, I began this writing with an allusion to an
insightful moment which has only occurred to me a decade and a half after my
little Buddy’s passing.
You
recall that when I laid down for my nap yesterday ‘it’ just occurred to me. The
respiration of that little unseen phantom which laid hard against my right
shoulder that night was sure and steady. My precious little friend no longer
labored for breath. She was fine and dandy now, and bereft of the malady which
took her from me, and that far too soon.
And I
have often mused that if any of God’s creatures, great or small, deserved the
opportunity to come back and reassure the one who loved her best on the earth, and
found the wherewithal to do so, well, I am convinced that Buddy did.
by William McDonald, PhD. Copyright pending
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