Eighteen years ago, my little maltapoo, Muffy, was a gift for my
5 year old son. I didn't even want her, being a young mother in
an increasingly abusive relationship. But after a few weeks, she
wrapped herself around my heart and began what was to be a long
and sometimes painful existence for her. She was always protecting
me and my son from my ex-husband's irrational and erratic behavior.
Only 12 pounds, with curly white hair, her tenacity and strength
was obvious years later to my second husband, who named her the
White Hornet. As he put it, "she coulda been a contender"
(she had a bad habit of attacking the vacuum cleaner when it came
close, opened everyone's packages at Christmas, had a preference
for domestic beer, and performed tricks, but only for me). The only
thing she feared, he said, was the broom, a reminder of the past,
when it had been poked at her by my ex after she took cover beneath
our king size bed. Muffy's "new Dad", as I promised her,
was beyond patient with her rebellious personality, and she loved
him almost as much as she loved me.
At age seventeen, she seemed to calm down. She was no longer a
puppy, but a steadfast friend. The thought I might lose her sent
me into a tailspin. I could not emotionally handle the void of that
loss in my life. Knowing it was inevitable caused more stress, and
we began a kind of dance of denial, a tango of avoiding the obvious.
As I watched her steady decline, my heart ached and my stomach churned.
I asked her to let go. I wanted it to be natural, for her to make
the decision. I found myself saying, "Muffy, tonight would
be a good night to go. You'll be ok." And when I said it, her
little face registered fear, and her eyes spoke loudly that she
did not want to leave. But her body was delivering another scenario,
one of discomfort and 18 years of life.
Days and nights became one. Sleep was no longer an option for either
of us. I cried constantly with the thought of having to make the
decision to end our loving dance. It was something I had never done
After one long evening of Muffy pacing and my nerves frayed, it
became clear that Friday was the day I would help her leave. It
was the last day Muffy's vet was available before leaving on vacation,
and Muffy liked her. I have had dark times in my life, but this
was turning out to be one of the darkest. I left the house to do
some thinking. I cried and spoke to Muffy in my mind, telling her
that it would be all right, that she could come back to visit me,
and we would never really be apart. The angels would come and take
her to a beautiful park where my grandmother would meet her. She
could run and play and feel like a puppy again. When I returned
to the house, Muffy acted as if she were feeling better again. Seeing
her appearing more normal, I couldn't go through with it. It did
not feel right, something was missing.
Well, that night she was up again and all the old stages of discomfort
returned. I knew this would be our last night together. I held her
in my arms, wrapped her in my son's old blanket, sitting on his
bed, saying goodbye for him. I memorized every detail of her as
we melded into one, my tears wetting her still beautiful white fur.
In the morning, my husband and I took her on her last "flower
walk", a tour of our gardens, stopping and smelling the roses.
Before, she would follow behind me, sniffing, now I carried her
and we smelled them together. I thought of the times she raced me
to the strawberry patch to eat as many as she could before I could
find them, or when she nibbled on the green beans as fast as I could
pick them fresh from the garden. Suddenly, she looked up at me,
and started kissing my neck, face and ears, as if frantically saying
I love you and good-bye. Her energy astounded us, and her love washed
over me as it hadn't done since her days as a puppy.
I called the vet realizing Muffy and I couldn't go through any
more nights or weeks of discomfort. We wrapped her in her favorite
blanket, and as we gathered her up, the phone rang. It was Cynthia,
a medium I had consulted in the past. I had asked her at one point
to talk to Muffy about going, and she had told me Muffy wasn't ready
yet, that she was afraid to leave me. Now, Cynthia had a message
for me, and described in detail the very conversation I had in my
mind about Muffy, about the angels, about the park, about what Muffy
would experience, about my grandmother, what she looked like, and
(much to may awe), her name as well. It was the confirmation and
validation I had hoped for. Cynthia's information gave me the ability
to breathe and I recognized it as an enormous sign that I had support
in the most difficult endeavor of my life. The truth of Cynthia's
words ran through me, giving me the strength to endure. I have always
believed in angels, and now that belief was returning to comfort
and nurture me through Cynthia's gift. I thanked her for the message,
As we drove toward the vet hospital, Muffy rested her little head
on my chest, her nose pointing toward my face, her eyes fixed on
me. She was etching every detail in her soul as she reached out
through her eyes and touched my heart, saying, I will never forget
your face! My insides melted and became a mound of emotion, still
Cynthia's words found the smallest entrance into that mound and
brought comfort. I was eternally grateful for the validation that
it would bring me in the days to come.
At the hospital, the vet requested we put Muffy on a cold stainless
steel table. I insisted on holding her, all 8 pounds now, of love,
joy, support, and companionship, a lifetime bond untouched by time
and space. She passed quickly. My white hornet, the contender, my
champ that protected me from everything and everybody, found her
way into my grandmother's arms, and continued her protection from
an angelic place.
As soon as Muffy left her body, the words from a song I had not
heard for years echoed through my head. It seemed bizarre and out
of place, but my higher self understood:
When I'm in your arms, nothing seems to matter,
My whole world could shatter,
I don't care.
Baby, you and me, gotta groovy kind of love.
I knew immediately, my guardian angel was already sending me messages
as I smiled through my tears.
The next day, I spoke with Cynthia, and she relayed to me more
information about where Muffy is and what she was up to. Trusting
in the truth of proof given me the day before, I have continually
been shown the light that works through her and delivers every time.
Previous to this, I have known many people who have been given astoundingly
accurate information by Cynthia (not just about animals), including
my own husband who in the past has been reluctant and skeptical
about this type of occurrence. I wish for others to know of this
enlightening experience. I am truly thankful for this person named
Cynthia and the expansive gifts she has to offer normal everyday
people like me. Her message has given me the courage to set Muffy
free, and allowed me to grieve, and at the same time, celebrate
the memory of the white hornet.
Mary Mims is a Portland, Oregon interior designer. She is married
and has a 23 year old son and two grown stepdaughters. She has successfully
incorporated her spiritual awareness into her everyday life. These
insights strengthen daily and have helped her overcome several difficult
life situations. She enthusiastically shares this awareness with