For a long time I didn’t know for certain that what I was seeing was real. I guess I didn’t exactly suspect that I was insane, or having hallucinations, but I didn’t know that each paranormal experience had anything to do with something more than my own mind.

One day that all changed and a began to better understand both my ability to see ghosts, or other beings in general and that I had to be careful with what I said and how I reacted.

I was about 8 or 9 years old when this event took place and had become somewhat accustom to seeing animals that I knew weren’t exactly there, or at the very least weren’t there for others to see.

Sitting in my room, probably playing with My Little Ponies, I noticed that my aunt’s dog had come into the room and seemed to be finding a place to settle in and go to sleep. It was a small dog, a terrier of some kind and though I wasn’t alarmed, I was immediately alerted to the fact that something was wrong.

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My aunt you see had never brought her dog to our house. She did not travel with her pup as some women do with their little purse-sized animal decorations (not that it can’t be cute, but the way they toss them around sometimes seems cruel to me.)

I sat there, paused in my play and watched as the animal curled up close to me on the rug and then looked up at me with those wonderful glossy eyes. I don’t know how many minutes passed as my youthful brain tried to grasp what was happening and why it was different from all of the other random animals I had seen.

After a time I got up and went into my father’s study. I remember watching him from the doorway, contemplating how to ask the question I needed to ask. As I stood there, he finally looked up and asked what was on my mind. I guess my face is rather an open book and he knew I was troubled by something, or perhaps all parents can read their children easily.

I know I hesitated. I remember that well. When I finally spoke I remember how calmly he took it. I would guess by then it was no longer a shock to him. Perhaps he had known for sometime what I was just then figuring out.

I simply asked my father if my aunt’s dog was dead.

He told me it had died that morning and that my mother had gone over to comfort her sister after such a heartbreaking loss.

I’m not sure if all children are strange creatures, or even if all children can see ghost dogs, but I know I didn’t want to tell him why I wanted to know. He suspected at the time and years later during one of our famous late night chats I confirmed my father’s suspicions by telling my side of the tale.

It was a monumental moment in my life and at the time I think I knew that a little, but nowhere near as much as I would come to understand later on.

After sitting with my father for a few minutes in silence, I jumped down from his lap and went back into my room. The dog, who I only ever heard called Pudding by the way, was still in my room when I returned. He looked up at me and I smiled at him before returning to my play.

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At some point Pudding left and I never saw him again. I have often wondered why he chose to come to me. We were not close, though I did always like him. Our house had not been his home, nor had I been the one to feed, play and adore him for most of his life. Perhaps he just needed to be seen one last time. Whatever the reason I have always been grateful to him for that day, it allowed me to begin seeing things very differently. I’ll have to remember to tell him some day.

Goodbye for now, another end.
Until a time we meet again.

-Seline