By Judy Slitt
I don’t know if you believe in energies or whatnot – Lily never did. But I was jogging along the beach by my new apartment, and heard my late Labrador retriever, Ozzie, panting next to me. He was always a bit chunky and out of shape, sweet boy. I stopped and looked behind me. A set of paw prints next to my footprints, all the way back to the boardwalk.
I was the only one there.
The sunrise peeked out, red and blinding, from behind a cloud.
The next morning, I woke up to find Ozzie’s stuffed Mister Froggo on the pillow next to me. I had found it in an old laundry hamper while unpacking and couldn’t bear to throw it out. I started having trouble sleeping. Mister Froggo squeaked nonstop, as though Ghost Ozzie was biting it. Squeak. Squeak. Squeak.
I posted on the local subreddit: “Medium wanted. haunted by dog(??)” Lily would’ve never let me do that. I was the witchier lesbian of the two of us. She let me read her tarot cards, but I could tell she wasn’t feeling it – she kept saying, “Oh, really?”
I’m not a total moron, though. I didn’t share my location with the medium until I read all her Yelp reviews.
“Call me Dee Dee,” she said, shaking my hand. She had frizzy red hair, torpedo boobs, and a stump for one of her arms.
She wandered around my house in a gray sweatsuit and New Balance shoes, sniffing the air. Was she an actual medium? Don’t they wear long robes or something?
She stopped in front of the couch. “I feel strong energy from your frog friend,” she said, pointing at Mister Froggo, who was covered in mystery slobber. “You moved here recently, right? Ozzie must’ve followed you from your old house.”
“The whole way?”
“The whole way.”
I imagined Ghost Ozzie on the cross-country road trip with me, from California to Florida. Sticking his head out the passenger side window of my Chevy S-10, smiling. Snuggling on my feet at the motel while a couple screamed at each other in the parking lot. Putting his blocky head in my lap as I kept calling Lily and hanging up.
“Oh,” I said. “I didn’t know dogs could do that. Does that mean he’s unhappy?” I started to panic.
Dee Dee laughed. “No! No, not at all. It’s all dogs want to do – be with their human. That doesn’t change when they’re in the next life.”
“So he’s okay?” I said. “He’s not stuck in some freaky dog purgatory.”
“He may be a little nervous in his new surroundings,” she said. “That’s perfectly natural. I’d keep your routine as similar as possible to what it was when he was in his furry form. But he’s in tune with your emotions. If you’re calm, he will be, too.” She gave me sage to burn for positive vibes.
When Dee Dee left, she hugged me and patted my back with her non-stump arm. She smelled like french fries. I wondered vaguely if having a stump arm helped her talk to the dead. Though I’m not sure how all that would work.
“I won’t take your money,” she said. “I was meant to come here.”
I followed Dee Dee’s advice. I set up a corner of the living room with Ozzie’s bowl, plush dog bed, and Mister Froggo. I take him on walks in the morning and after dinner, just like I used to. And last night, I swear to you, I was having trouble sleeping when I felt a familiar weight settle on top of my feet.
I said, “Ozzie, is that you? I love you. Good boy.”
Ozzie the Ghost Dog sighed heavily, and we both fell into a deep sleep.
* * *
Judy Slitt lives in Virginia. Her stories have appeared or are forthcoming in Cosmic Daffodil Journal, Moss Puppy Magazine, M E N A C E, Crow & Cross Keys, and BULL. Her website is judyslitt.com.