A Bridge Between Worlds: Saying Goodbye

This week, I said goodbye to our beloved furbaby, Tig. He was 11½—an angel in a husky-lab body with golden fur and piercing blue eyes. Sweet, silly, and almost human. I came home from work and found him in distress. My heart knew. We rushed to the vet, and the truth settled heavy: it was time.

I’d never been present for the moment of passing before. I was scared, but something in me knew—I had to be there for him. I held him close and chose to be brave. As Tig gently slipped away, I felt something I’ll never forget: his energy rising and filling my chest. A warmth, a fullness. Dave, my partner, felt it too. It was peaceful. It was love.

That night, we grieved together. My mind tried to escape by making lists, but Tig’s heart energy kept bringing me back to the present—to feel, not flee. I saw visions of him as Pegasus, radiant and free, and of my father walking with him and our other pup, Chunk, along a rocky stream. A crossing. A reunion.

The next day, I caught myself heading to the door to let him out. Eleven years of routine, gone in an hour. The ache returned. But honestly, I had been preparing. Three years ago, I discovered a lump on his chest. A voice rang loud and clear: “No intervention.” So I vowed to give him the best life I could. And he gifted me three more years of presence, joy, and sacred connection.

We camped (his favorite), we canoed (not his favorite), and we laid on the grass more times than I can count. I practiced connecting to his higher self. I asked him often to leave this world quickly, without suffering, when the time came. And he did.

Tig had been my prayer answered. I had asked the Universe for a companion to love me unconditionally—and in walked Tig. Through him, I also found my partner Dave. We met at the dog park—Tig ran with the pack, and Dave’s dog, Chunk, was there. We joked later that we met through our dog versions: I has a blond, blue-eyed male; he had a dark-haired, dark-eyed female. Now we have the same configuration in cats!

This last stretch of life with Tig coincided with my spiritual expansion. He anchored me—his gentle nudges led me deeper into mysticism, embodiment, and presence. I used to think I was playing when I’d lay in the grass with him. Now I know he was teaching me sacred grounding.

The morning he left us I pulled two oracle cards, gratitude and transition. And hat afternoon, a feather fell right on Dave's phone. It was so moving that he had to call me to tell me about it. The signs were very clear. And I had read them correctly but I just didn't want to be right. I could later acknowledge how much my intuition had grown.

Tonight, as I worked in the garden and the grief ebbed and flowed, I reached out to him. And I heard it: “I left now because you were ready.”  The realization hit me and my heart swelled with gratitude and lightness. He was right. I was ready. This whole process I was engaging in of truly feeling the grief and not filling the space up with tasks and other distractions was proof of that.

Tig came to guide me, to love me, to show me how to slow down and listen. He left not as a dog, but as an angelic soul. I still feel him so strongly. He’s now part of the bridge I walk between worlds.

We gave him the best life. And he gave me something eternal.

Thank you, Tig. I love you forever.