For a few weeks I’d been thinking about bringing a dog into our home. When Daisy died, months past now, I knew someday I’d be ready again, but I didn’t think it would be until the spring. But here I was feeling maybe it was time, then yes it’s time, but do I really want to be taking a dog for walks and out for it’s needs with winter coming on? Then Allison called.
When Daisy was sick, I promised her she always had a home here. She could come back into body anytime she wanted. I explained that if she couldn’t find me directly she could find me through Allison, a long-time friend, one time Daisy’s foster mom, and owner of Pawsavers Dog Rescue. “But I don’t want to be a puppy again, Mom,” Daisy kept telling me. “I don’t want to leave you.”
Daisy had a rough life as a puppy before living at Allison’s. I didn’t blame her for not wanting to skip puppyhood. I also wondered how she would find me, but I knew she would. We had a special bond from the beginning.
While fostering Daisy, Allison often told me that I was Daisy’s forever home. Yeah, I knew that, knew it even before Allison said anything, but my house and heart were full. We were nursing the last two of our team of five rescue dogs. Lacey, a little Sheltie, was not doing well, and I wanted to make her last days on Earth full of love and attention. When she passed, Freddie, who appeared one day as a pup in my fenced-in back yard, was lonely. He was used to being part of the pack, not he was alone. It was time to bring Daisy home to help make Freddie’s final years better.
Daisy, a border collie and lab mix, became my constant companion. She often moved the cats off my lap on the sofa so she could put her head and paws there. We’d walk for miles along the country roads where we live. And she never met a stranger. On hikes, people would stop and pet her. There was something special about Daisy, like she was an angel of love. You just felt better in her presence. Then one day, while hiking with friends, Daisy struggled. It was her last hike. She could still play in the meadow, but when we’d walk down the lane to pick up the mail, Daisy would stop and look at me. “Mom, I ready to go back.” So, we put away her leashes, and let her play with the butterflies as I walked down the lane to get the mail.
It was hard saying goodbye to her, even harder watching her give up the life she had loved. She asked me to promise her I’d let her stay on the land, no vets. When I broke my promise and tried to take her to the vet, she knew what was happening, and bit me. (In Ohio a dog can’t be euthanized if she’s bitten anyone within ten days.)
After Daisy passed, I was sad, relieved, and mostly tired. I wasn’t ready for another dog. And then months passed, and Allison called. Out of the blue, a friend in dog rescue in Michigan called, “Do you by any chance know of anyone who would rehome a 9-year-old sheltie?”
“Yes. Send me a photo.” When Allison saw the photo, the little one reminded her of Lacey, my sheltie. My niece, Michelle, was here when Allison called and texted the photos.
“Let’s go get her right now!” Michelle said with such excitement I was ready to go.
“Let me talk to Lily,” I said. Since her two cat sisters died, she’s been the only cat, and since Daisy died, she’s been the only 4-legged one here. Although she loved Daisy, I wasn’t sure she would welcome another animal into our home.
The next day, I committed to bring Piper into our home as her forever home. Rehoming a dog is different than adopting from a rescue. Rescue dogs are usually thankful; rehomed dogs need to grieve and adjust. From the little knowledge I had Piper had lived in the same home for nine years. This wasn’t going to be easy. I still had reservations, yet it did feel right. So, I headed to the pet store to buy her a new vest and other essentials.
After leaving the pet store, I headed to Kroger’s to pick up a few groceries. So, few were the things I needed that I didn’t bother with a cart. Walking down one isle, while looking at the shelves and not the cement floor, I started sliding and going down. Guess I screamed. I don’t remember. I only remember sliding.
“Are you okay,” I heard a female voice. Then another, then a male voice, “Are you okay?”
“I don’t know,” I answered. I was lying on the floor. I didn’t know how I got there. Then I remembered the feeling of sliding downward. (I still don’t remember hitting the ground.) Anxiety kicked in. Was I hurt? I didn’t know. Julie, the first woman to me, stayed near me. She and her son sent others around me and the slippery spot. The gentleman went for a Kroger employee.
John, a manager, finally showed up. It seemed to take forever. Julie had helped me stand by then as I checked myself over. I wanted to leave the store, but I wasn’t about to leave this slippery spot on the floor for someone else to fall. “She fell really hard,” Julie told the manager. He just shook his head and proceeded to pull out paper towels to clean up the slippery. “It was a green grape,” he said, and I thought to myself, “Yeah, one a kid threw up.” You could see a two-foot-long streak where I began the slid before ending in the fall. There was way too much liquid for just one green grape. Still, I didn’t say anything. By now my anxiety was barely under control.
I kept telling myself to calm down. Being this anxious wasn’t like me, especially in a crisis, which is when I’m usually really calm. But it was in a crowded grocery store after a day of running errands. Being in stores has always been a challenge for me, especially since Covid. Julie and her son left, so did John after getting my information and I assured him I had no intention of suing Kroger’s.
After picking up the items I came into the store for, I walked outside, and breathed. By now my body was feeling the fall and all I wanted to do was get to my car and go home. I started questioning why I fell. I have good balance. Why was there a grape right there in the middle of the floor? Why was I the one who stepped on it just so? Was this about Piper? Was Daisy telling me to slow down, that this wasn’t her, that I shouldn’t let Piper come to our home? My mind was awhirl with questions.
As I reached the car, my anxiety was about as high as I’ve ever experienced. My phone, which was in my pocket started playing music. I had turned it off because once it’s in my pocket, the phone has a mind of its own. The fall must have turned it back on.
I pulled it out to turn it off. I stopped. Tears burst forth and I let out a full-voiced breath. There on the screen was Daisy running toward me. “Piper needs you like I needed you,” she relayed.
Once composed enough to drive home, I started the car and headed for the parking lot. As I pulled away, the sun broke through parting dark rain clouds. I opened the sunroof and breathed in the rained-fresh air and bright sun. I no longer had a question about whether Piper should come to live with us. Daisy had spoken, and the answer was clear. Daisy didn’t have to come back as a puppy, but was she Piper? How could that be? Piper was nine, which was about how many years ago Lacey, my last sheltie died. But Daisy only died months back. I was pondering all these questions. Then Allison called.
She reminded me of what I had told her years before. As animal communicators, we had often worked together on finding lost dogs or cats and relied on one another for help communicating with our own 4-legged kids. When a person or one of our believe pets dies, they may return as a spark with another. Our human minds want the whole kid, not just a spark, so we don’t grasp how an animal—or a person—can be a spark. We have the DNA of our ancestors, and so can animals.
“Daisy did so much spirit work with you. She grew so much in this lifetime,” Allison, the animal communicator said. “She has more to do in spirit before she’s ready to fully come back, but she’s guiding Piper.”
Tears of truth flowed as my heart opened fully to Piper. She must be one special little girl to have Daisy as her own doggy spirit guide.
I pray Piper will be with us for many years (Daisy was 16 and Lily is in her 20s.) but if she is only coming here so Daisy can help with her transition in a few years, it’s still right. I wondered about the fall? And the anxiety? Why did they happen? It finally came to me the fall turned my phone on to the perfect video of Daisy that I took years ago. I never would have seen that video had the phone—and Daisy—not sent it to me. The anxiety? I was going from one place to another that day. What better way to slow me down and send me home than to shut me down.
I think of Allison, my niece Michelle, Dawn, Allison’s friend who introduced me to Piper with a simple message to Allison to ask if she knew anyone who might want a 9-year-old sheltie who needed to be rehomed. And I think of Daisy and Piper, and the miracle that brought us all together.
Update: Michelle, now Auntie Michelle to Piper, and I met Dawn last Sunday. Piper now lives with us, and all is well. It’s quiet here in our country home where she is the only dog and where she has a special angel to watch over her. Thank you Daisy.
Piper is certainly a very lucky little lady 🐶🐾💕
Thank you. We indeed are lucky to have Piper in our lives.