Dogs really are man’s best friend. They have been loyal companions for thousands of years, helping man to hunt in return for a place at his fire. Guarding his herds from predators, protecting his master’s family, carting his goods and as time went on working as tracker dogs. They have come into their own as animal companions and sniffer dogs. They are without doubt, man’s best friend. So it takes no stretch of the imagination to accept that they take their family’s safety seriously. I’ve mentioned in earlier posts about the spirits of dead pets often accompanying their masters into a reading. I usually saw a tiny blue light at first then received a mental image of the pet. Funnily enough there was a preponderance of service dogs that came through, Labradors and German Shepherds. Don’t ask me why because I don’t know. They looked at me and laid down next to the table, gave their tail a wag and put their heads down on their paws. I used to find it touching. Yet I have had more warnings from living dogs while doing readings. It usually goes like this, deceased dog first.
The room’s quiet, a little dark actually and there is a lull in the conversation. We’ve discussed the reason for the visit and delved into the intricacies of alternate paths for the client’s future. I feel a little niggle at the edge of my awareness, a pulling sensation then I see it: first something ordinary a chewed up toy, or a ball covered in slobber. Then the big, sad eyes, a black, shiny nose, twitching and a little moist. Quite often I’d hear the panting then I’d see a place from the dogs point of view. I’d say, ‘The dog that came in with you, did he have a blue and black rubber ball, always covered in slobber?’ – ‘Hmm, yes he did why?’ – ‘Hang on and I’ll have a look.’ Seeing a backyard from a dog’s eye view is nothing if not interesting. Rover did the rounds of a cluttered back yard in a zig-zag pattern. First the kennel, then to where he kept his bones, a quick sniff around and a scratch. I saw the children’s swing and playhouse and then, zoom, we’re heading straight to a pile of timber in the back corner of the yard. I can feel the dog’s anxiety and hear a low growl. A snake’s head appears from between the timber, an eastern brown snake to be exact, deadly. A child could definitely die from its bite. The dog growls and the snake slithers away.
My client is looking a little aggrieved as I’ve said nothing during this period, then I tell her what I’ve seen. ‘Well that’s absurd, dogs don’t talk.’ (Here we go again) ‘I never said he talked, he showed me that there is a danger in your backyard. There’s a snake there that could harm your children.’ – ‘Okay, I’ll get my husband to check. We’ve never seen one there at all.’ Fast forward a few days and the expected phone call comes. ‘You’re right Laurie, Sam found a 6 foot brown snake under the timber, the kids have been getting wood for their playhouse from there.’
Now from a living dog and this happened last year. It raises the question of how did the dog do it, a psychic link via its owner or just tapping into the ether? Lorelle and I were in a local toy store shopping for birthday gifts, no, not for me. I hung around near the counter checking out the remote-controlled cars (I really want one) when I felt the old familiar tug at the mind. Within seconds I was being shown a back yard from a small dog’s point of view. By the range of swings, trampolines and large toys I saw, it didn’t take a huge stretch of the imagination to realise the yard belonged to the lady manager behind the counter. The dog, which I believed to be a Tamworth Terrier gave me the obligatory tour of the yard before zeroing in on a hole beneath the wall of the lowset, brick house. Yes, another snake and a bloody big one to boot. The view changed and I now saw the yard from my perspective. The dog ran around in circles yapping his little head off, stopped, stuck his nose in the hole, growled and ran backwards. Yep, a big snake alright. A red bellied black snake, well over six-foot long slid out. The dog kept running at it and the snake would raise up and strike. I’d seen enough, this little guy was going to end up dead. The black snake, although venomous wouldn’t kill a healthy adult but little kids and dogs would be in danger.
To my way of thinking if I receive something like this, then I’m meant to know about it and pass on the warning. I waited until the manager was free and said, ‘Hi, you may not believe this but I think I’ve been contacted by your dog.’ This could be a great opening chat-up line.🙂 She said, ‘You what?’ – ‘Before you think I’m really crazy bear with me. You live in a lowset brick house, the backyard looks like a playground and your dog is a Tamworth terrier, he’s black and white.’ Her eyes glazed over and she gave me that, you’re a stalker look. ‘I could have, why?’ Thankfully Lorelle turned up, I told her what I’d seen and she said to the lady, ‘Don’t worry he does this now and then.’ I smiled and went into my spiel, telling her what the dog had shown me, as I talked and made contact with the manager I began to receive more general information and said, ‘The thing is that snake should be removed, it’ll get your dog soon, or one of the kids. Oh, I’d tell your hubby he’s going to lose his grey utility on the corner if he keeps doing those drifts on his way home.’ That got her attention, ‘I’ve told him he’s going to flip it over and the dog is giving me the shits with all that barking.’ We chatted for a while and left, I wonder why people who have dogs don’t go and see what they’re barking at. We dropped in the following week and the same as the previous story, they found the snake where I’d said it would be.
A reading where a dog boosted the old credibility factor. I’ll call the lady Betty, she’d been referred by a friend and asked me to come around to do the reading, as she couldn’t leave her mother on her own. I pulled up on the gravel road in front of the thrown together dwelling, sat for a moment and took in the front yard and paddock behind the house. Checking my notebook to make sure I had the right address, I looked again and thought. No, it’s the right one. The place looks like a wrecking yard. Just how many truck and car bodies can you fit on twenty acres? More importantly, how many old washing machines can you use as a garden feature? I knocked on the door and it was answered by a large, young woman with a huge smile. An obviously pregnant Staffordshire Bull Terrier stood next to her leg, wagging its tail so hard its whole body wobbled. Betty and I shook hands and she invited me in, picking our way through the stuff littering the floor she directed me to the kitchen table. A woman sat in an overstuffed lounge chair in the corner of the open plan room. Her unkempt, long white hair stuck up in all directions. Clutching the front of her cardigan with one hand she swigged from a bottle of scotch clasped in the other. The reading went very well, except for the occasional drunken interjection from mum. As Betty showed me out of the door, I stopped, crouched down and patted the dog. She rolled on her back and gave me one of those wide-mouthed grins that only Staffies seem to give. Betty said, ‘Okay Mister psychic, show me how good you are. When is she going to whelp, how many pups is she going to have and what sex will they be?’ Putting my hand on the dog’s belly I tuned in and saw eight pups. They looked like peas in a pod in the womb and were there in two ranks of four. Standing up I took out my notebook and said, ‘No worries, I’ll even tell you what colour they’ll be as well.’ I drew a diagram with an arrow coming from each pup and wrote a brief description, giving order of arrival, colour and sex: 1. dog, brown and white. 2. dog, brown. 3. bitch, white with brown ring around eye. 4, bitch, black and white… and so on coming to the last pup, 8. bitch, orange and white Collie X. I gave her the piece of paper and she laughed at the last entry, ‘No way, we put a friend’s pure bred Staffie over her.’ I shrugged, ‘Well you asked me what I could see and that’s what you’re going to get. It’s Friday today, I reckon she’ll whelp on Tuesday evening.’ After saying my goodbyes I made the perilous journey through the yard and returned to my car. I’d pressed hard enough on the notepad so that what I’d written showed on the following page. After going back over it I drove home.
I received the expected call on Wednesday morning. Betty’s voice gloated as she said, ‘Wrong, you were wrong Laurie, there’s only two pups.’ I waited until she finished chuckling then said, ‘Hmm, so she had them last night?’ – ‘Well, yeah.’ – ‘They were both dogs and the colour I said?’ – ‘Well, yeah. But I took her to the vet and she said there’s only one more pup, so you’re wrong.’ – ‘Look Betty, she hasn’t finished there are more to come.’ She gave a hearty chuckle and hung up. I felt a little deflated, I knew there were eight pups there. The phone rang again Thursday morning, yes it was Betty, ‘Hmm, I have to apologise Laurie, the rest of the pups came out last night. We had to go back to the Vet and she was surprised when the eighth one came out. All in order and as you described them, even the last one it was…’ her mum called out from the background, ‘I told you that bloody Collie from up the road was chocker block up your precious bloody dog didn’t I? But no, you don’t listen to me……’ Betty cut in, ‘”She’s right, she told me but I didn’t think they could fall pregnant after they’d been served.’ – ‘It’s a strange world Betty,’ I said doing a happy dance, a la Snoopy and Charlie Brown, ‘A strange world indeed.’
A dying dog. This is a personal story and one that still brings a tear to my eyes. My ex-wife and I had two long-haired Chihuahuas, George and Monty. They were litter brothers, we bought Monty as a pup from a breeder, he didn’t meet the criteria for a show dog. Then George came along after his show career ended, another competitor deliberately stood on his foot, breaking it. The little paw ended up crooked and he couldn’t be shown again. Weren’t they happy to see each other. No one can tell me that dogs forget their siblings. They were never fed processed, wet pet food and ate chicken, beef, vegetables and top of the line cat biscuits and they lived for fourteen years. As they became older we would give them Reiki every night but sadly everything has to die. We had to take Monty to the Vet when his time came as he was in great pain. The trip out to the surgery and back home with his little body was one of the longest I’ve ever taken. George was devastated and moped around the house. Not long afterwards it became obvious he wouldn’t be with us for long. We took turns sitting with him through the night, he didn’t whimper or show signs of pain. We’d been taking turns to sit with him. My wife came out and I gave up my position by the fire and returned to bed. I felt he didn’t have long but would be there for a while longer.
When I dream of someone dying, or of some terrible event with a large loss of life I see them on a train. The carriages are usually modern but are always hauled by a steam train. I settled under the blankets and found myself at the local railway station. Standing on the platform I watched as a huge steam engine passed, drawing several modern, steel carriages. It came to a halt at the end of the platform and I stood in front of the last carriage. The doors slid open and a much younger, perky George leapt in, turned and sat looking at me, giving his usual cheeky grin. Throwing the covers aside I leapt out of bed, ran to the lounge and sat next to our little dog. I put my hand on him and he passed away. We buried him next to his brother in the back yard. The good thing is they never really ‘left.’ We quite often felt them jump up on the end of the bed, do the usual three turns and flop down. Even after our divorce they would turn up, it felt comforting to have them visit me on odd occasions. People and pets might physically die but I believe there’s a part of them that come back when we need them the most.
Next week: The Guru and his crew.