Their Heaven Is With Us



I am writing about this incident just six hours after my most recent paranormal event. First, I must give you a little back story. When I first met my wife Anita, she introduced me to Georgia and Holly. Georgia, a Siberian Husky, was rescued from a national forest. Someone threw her away there, leaving her to survive on her own, or die. It never ceases to amaze me how cruel and ignorant some people can be.

She survived because a fish hatchery nearby provided her with water and food. When Anita found her on a hiking trip the Husky, she named Georgia, looked like she was ready to give up. She was filthy and covered with ticks and fleas. Anita rescued her with the approval of the Park Rangers Office, then took her to the vet and paid a great deal of money for heartworm treatments, vaccines, and the care she needed. She was just over one year old per the vet’s estimate. With Anita, and myself, I came along a couple of years later, Georgia had a loving home for many years, as did Holly.

Holly, a beautiful Golden Retriever was gotten when Anita was still with her ex-husband. They got her as a young pup. He insisted on having her when they split. He gave her a good home; however, shortly after Anita rescued Georgia, her ex asked Anita to take Holly. She did.

When Anita and I started dating, she saw her dogs approved of me. Anyone who didn’t pass the “dog approved test” wouldn’t have a chance with her. I passed with flying colors. We dated, then lived together for years before we finally got married. The dogs were our only children.

Many years later, the dogs got old. Holly went first. One morning she couldn’t even stand up anymore. The doctor said it was most likely cancer. He assured us the suffering had not come yet, but would come very soon.  Since she was over fifteen years old, we decided it was not in her interest to prolong her life, which wouldn’t have been much longer anyway. We could not stand to see her suffer, so at the conservative Vet’s recommendation, we decided to let her pass with dignity. It was the toughest act of love I’ve ever experienced.  I held her, and petted her while she gently, and peacefully drifted away.

Georgia was the next to go. She went the same way as Holly a couple of years later, after Cushion’s disease had reached its final stage. She was thirteen years old. She went peacefully while I petted her as I had petted Holly. The pain of their loss was, and is still felt keenly by both of us. Anita and I had given those two a loving home for so many years, and they brought us so much joy.  Their ashes are on a bookcase. Pictures of them are placed upon the urns that hold their remains. They are, after all, family.

We have another rescued dog now. Her name is Molly. We got her when she was just a few months old. Her and her mother were turned over to a shelter and rescued by the Foothills Golden Retriever rescue group. She is our joy and we love her just as we did Georgia and Holly.

Sometimes, Molly appears to be watching, or following someone or something around the house. On many occasions, both Anita and myself will see a dog from the corner of our eye quickly move by, then vanish.  We will then walk upstairs and find Molly asleep on our bed.

Sometimes, we will see, or hear a dog upstairs, then find Molly downstairs asleep on the couch. Sometimes we will hear paws jumping on the bed all the way form downstairs. I have heard this happen while Anita was out on a walk with Molly. These occurrences have gone on for years now since their passing. Molly has developed some of the same habits as Georgia and Holly as if they are watching over her.

On March 20th, 2017 at 3AM exactly, I was awakened to the sound of Molly jumping on our bed. Molly always sleeps with us and it isn’t unusual at all for her to get up several times during the night. I could hear the dog turning a circle and feel the mattress move with the movement of her paws and the shifting of her weight as she settled down. I felt her nuzzled against the back of my legs. “Molly Mu, go sleepy time,” I said

I got up to get a glass of water downstairs, and lying on the tile by the front door near the base of the staircase was Molly. She was sound asleep. I turned around to examine the bed, and saw the imprint of where a dog had just been lying.  I feel certain that Georgia and Holly are here with us. We can feel their energy throughout our modest home. We can tell Molly knows of their presence as well.

Maybe their heaven is here with us, at least for now. This is the little home where so much love is shared between us, and I like to think that a place of love is what heaven is. I only hope when we move on that all the dogs we have shared our love with join us there.


 The End





What does history mean to me as a fiction writer?

History is the well from which the wisdom to determine the future of mankind is drawn. I believe when one writes fiction the use of accurate history is critical. It is the truth inside the lie that gives fiction true value.

Steven Whitfield

Courage Is Fed By Love

Are you afraid of dying? It is something all men before you have done, and that all men will do. Have you ever made love to a truly great woman? And during that lovemaking, didn’t you for at least a moment lose all fear of death? Great love making is a respite from death. Cowardice comes from not loving, or not loving well, which is the same thing. When a man is brave and true and looks death squarely in the face like someone just before the moment of passing, it is because they have loved with sufficient passion to push death out of their minds until it returns as it does to all men, and then you must make passionate love again.