Mar 23, 2021
Angels in Dog Suits — Celestial Interlude pg274–275
Colorful companion to my memoir The Incompetent Psychic
Rose turned to Fauna, “Being a chihuahua would work honey.”
Fauna looked startled and thoughtful both “I can at least choose a color.”
The three chorused, “Blond!”.
Rose continued, “There’s no reason you have to be a tiny, nervous cliché of an ankle biter. The original Mayan-era breed was a little larger and sturdier than the current teacup trend. You’ve twisted DNA strands before. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
Fauna thought it through. “Chihuahua Classic! I could mix in a little ermine for softer fur, get me some big, pointy ears for extra cuteness,… I like it.”
Rose covered Fauna’s hand with her’s and assured her with all her heart. “It will be tough at first, but I’ll get you to Mernie and make sure she recognizes you even though she doesn’t yet imagine having a tiny pet. You’ll be scared and hungry for a while, but it will be okay once you’re together. She really does know how to show a dog a good time. After all, I trained her.”
“Thanks Rose, I’m counting on it. I should get started. I want to meet up with Mernie before her mother jumps back. Love you both so very much.” Fauna disappeared in a poof of pink sparkles. — From Chapter 15
Because my father’s company transferred our family all over the West in the 60s & 70s, we had a ‘no dogs’ rule. I was the kid who strays followed home. Mom quickly found their owners or said she did. I once carried a young puppy home and tearfully begged to keep him. For six months in California I got to have a doggie. Then we were sent to Calgary, and my pup was sent to the pound. Once while we were eating dinner the little guy was on the patio, crying and scratching at the sliding glass door to join us. My father went out and beat him with a rolled up newspaper. I couldn’t stop it. From then on he was no longer my hero. The church told me god was the father, so I wasn’t keen to sing those praises in that choir either… although the Hallelujah Chorus and Amazing Grace are nice songs.
Six types of love were identified in ancient Greece— from crazy in love eros to the sublime love of empathy for all that is agape. A critter who shows up to be a devoted companion connects us to that universal agape love. That love has saved my sanity, my soul and even my life during darker years. Agape connects us to a more exalted plane somewhere bigger… a place where ego doesn’t rule like a mad daddy with a closed fist or a rolled up newspaper. We have this planet for that.
A concept of God is beyond me, and I stopped trying to comprehend either human constructs or my own imagination early on. But generous messengers from a much better place do drop by to say hi. There are angels and spirit guides, some better-behaved ghosts and spritely elementals. Some popped in for tea while I wrote this book. Occasionally our guides dress up in fur suits with four legs and tails to help out. Anyone who has loved an animal can sense that poetry of sublime assistance… sometimes even see and hear the more helpful verses when we calm down enough to listen.
I could go on and on waxing poetic about the magic of good dogs, but the chihuahua just told me she wants food and a walk to go poop. Time to get back to earth.
A signed copy of Mernie’s memoir is available at www.etsy.com/listing/839838936
