While we sat at table over coffee, late-sleeping Tulip should have come walking, stiff and stretching, from the bedroom while we said “Good morning!” and “Here she comes, here she comes!” That’s the way it’s supposed to be.
Have you ever noticed how, in tough times, syncronicity appears, and consciousness alters?
When Tulip was boarding at the animal hospital, we knew she’d be ill on her return, and in our rented house with carpeting, we’d need to keep Tulip in the kitchen with its durable floor.
Adrienne called the Noah’s Ark petstore, and spoke with the owner, a blonde woman we’d never met. However, the week before, the local newspaper displayed an article on cat rescue folks, and in the photo this same woman sat with a cat who looked exactly like Komodo Kittie that we’d placed with the Humane Society.
Adrienne wanted a baby gate, to close the kitchen from the carpet. The pet-store lady said she’d ask a woman named Chris at the Humane Society. “She’s a pet communicator,” said the pet-store woman, “I don’t know if you believe in things like that.”
Adrienne, very much, does.
In fact, musing with me the day before, she’d wished she knew a pet psychic, and when the pet-store woman reached Chris, Chris said she could help, and asked for Adrienne’s name. Chris already knew who she was, and the pet-store woman said, “Adrienne? Oh! You’re that Adrienne!” The story of Komodo Kittie had made the rounds, you see.
Chris said that her dog Nikki would help guide Tulip when the time came. And Chris then reminded the pet-store woman that there was a nice gate stashed in the back room of the pet-store, which had been forgotten.
“That’s right!” said the pet-store woman, and invited Adrienne to come over. Adrienne drew Angel Cards, and they said “Creativity” and “Spontenaity.” I don’t draw Angel cards, but every day I check the Fortune Cookie built into this site. Although the fortune is randomly selected from my quotes collection, quotes appear which I swear I’ve never seen before.
In the afternoon, Adrienne said she didn’t know how she’d go on, without Tulip. And in my office, the fortune cookie selected a quotation from Adrienne herself. “Don’t stop,” it said. “Just keep moving. — Adrienne Gallant”
The pet store gate was double-size. This was good, because we needed a double-size gate. Adrienne asked how much it would cost. The woman said, “Just take it. Take it with you.”
As we set up the gate, Adrienne again tried to reach the pet communicator, with no luck. And when, a week ago, the sun rose on Tulip’s last day, and when Adrienne rose in that early light, she pulled an Angel Card. It said, “Grace.”
The vet we reached on the phone agreed to come and set Tulip free of that broken body. She was a vet new to us. She was named Dr. Roberts, or actually, Dr. Grace Roberts.
While Dr. Roberts was preparing the injections, the phone rang. We didn’t want to talk, but it just kept ringing. “Go answer it,” I told Adrienne, “We don’t want it ringing.”
There, at that last moment, was Chris, the pet communicator, with words of comfort. Adrienne thanked her, hung up, then sat on the floor, and we stroked and spoke with Tulip as she passed away.
Later in the afternoon, from Chris Adrienne heard that Tulip was being escorted by guides including the dog Nikki and a horse, and that the journey would take three days. Adrienne tears up, telling me. “I wanted to tell them that Tulip couldn’t run very long,” she says.
During these three days of Tulip’s journey, we’ve been told to encourage Tulip to keep moving. And once she gets where she’s going, then she’ll be able to come back and visit us. Well, that sounds like a good idea to me, because I like her a lot, and miss her terribly. All this week, I hear Adrienne crying. “Keep moving, Tulip,” she says. “Keep moving.”
Two weeks ago, and two weeks before that, Adrienne told me of peculiar dreams. In the earlier dream, she and Tulip were walking and they met two strange dogs. These sound frightening, for they were tall, wild, stiff-legged, with dark coats and glowing pale blue eyes. Yet she and Tulip were not afraid. She awoke.
They’re guides, she thought.
In the later dream, again she and Tulip walked along a path, and topping a ridge they came upon a field, a field much larger than a football field, and upon the wide green grass, hundreds and hundreds of border collies were running, walking, playing, prancing, as far as you could see.
Adrienne spoke to Tulip, on the leash near her hand. “Look, Tulip,” she exclaimed, “All your cousins!”
But Tulip was no longer on the leash.
The leash was empty. And in the dream, Adrienne cried, knowing that Tulip had gone. Tulip had joined her cousins, out upon the sweet green grass.
Playing, running, prancing, I can see Tulip, blending with all the others, black and white and joyous, running with all the border collies of the world.
Lyon Street, San Francisco, 1990: Adrienne worked at 