RS American Eskimo Spitz Returns from Rainbow Bridge as a Pomerian

My name is Cindy B and I am an Ambassador of Hope for Animal Reincarnation.
I am writing to tell you; you can believe! Reincarnation is real!!! Here's my story.  I invite you to
join our Animal Reincarnation Facebook Group- we're here to answer your heart's questions and
help heal your heart!

We all have pets who are more than pets—those who are special members of our families, lovingly blended into our lives. Fatty, my American Eskimo Spitz dog, was such a family member. Pure white with an unruly oval cowlick smack in the center of her nose (a cowlick I repeatedly and unsuccessfully tried to smooth).

Fatty was a wonderfully gentle and obedient dog. She loved water, probably due to her thick coat, made to resist cold weather.  She went everywhere with our family. Fatty died from a stomach tumor over 20 years ago, on a rainy Easter morning. Although gone from our lives, she’d always be remembered with great love.

Our lives went on, and we had other pets, including Mitzi, a Miniature Pinscher. Then, two years ago, Mitzi died. She was a good dog, but became blind from diabetes and had many other health problems, so her death was a relief, though her absence left the house with an empty feeling.

 As the months rolled by, I decided to get another dog. However, this time I was looking for “my dog.”  I wasn’t able to explain what that meant, except the words kept repeating in my mind and heart—I was looking for “my dog.”

I spent three months browsing the internet, looking for “my dog.”  I tried to adopt one or two, but the adoptions never worked out. Then, one day, I saw a picture of a dog called “Max,” who was located at a dog pound 30 miles away. He was a black-and-tan purebred Pomeranian, so I knew his stay at the pound would be very short. I called the pound, and they said he was still there, but the facility was closed, so I was forced to wait until morning to go see him.

When I awoke the next morning, I was filled with an incredible joy. I knew I was going to adopt this dog—there was no doubt in my mind. The joy I felt went far beyond the joy of knowing I was going to adopt another dog. This joy was pure, exquisite—it uplifted my soul.

I drove to the pound, and there he was, standing in a cage.  The Humane Society employees warned me that he was very shy and they had been working with him to overcome his fear of people. I paid the fee for his adoption, and “Max” was thrust into my arms.

On our drive home I renamed him Teddy. He turned out to be a very special little guy—extremely gentle and obedient—and our bond was instantaneous. From the moment I brought him home, he followed me everywhere. Everyone agreed that he was “my dog.” 

However, each time I took Teddy for a walk, the image of a stomach tumor would pop into my mind. The image was troubling, and I could not understand why it repeatedly occurred. This was Teddy, not Fatty. Did I love him so much that I was worried he would die the same way?  

The next month, a psychic fair took place nearby. The participants included a woman who specialized in pets. I paid for a reading, and she told me that Teddy was Fatty, reincarnated.  She also said that he had been with me for many lifetimes. She made several other comments that melted any skepticism and validated my belief in her statements. Once I accepted that Teddy was Fatty, the thoughts of the tumor vanished.

While buying dog food one day, I noticed a sign on the store’s front door that advertised an appearance by Brent Atwater, an expert in animal life and death, and pet reincarnation. The sign advised attendees to “bring photographs of your pets.”  Huh, I thought, this would be a way to validate my belief that Teddy really was Fatty. Would Brent know?

I walked into the store that evening with my pictures of Fatty and Teddy in hand. As Brent addressed the group, we nervously waited to hear what she would say about our pets.

Each person handed Brent their photographs, and she quickly went through each one without pause: this pet would reincarnate; this one would not; this one would look different when reborn, this one, the same. Finally Brent came to me, and I handed her my photographs of Fatty and Teddy. Brent fell dead silent, unlike with the other photos she’d looked at. She gazed back and forth from the picture of Fatty to the picture of Teddy.  I waited for her to speak, but the silence continued. Finally, I said, “You know something.” Brent looked straight at me and said “This is the same dog.”

Weeks later, I remembered something Brent had said that evening—that many times, a mark or coloration will be evident which will allow you to recognize your pet. Fatty was pure white, while Teddy is brown and black. What could there be?  And then I saw it: the odd pale oval mark on Teddy’s all-black nose, the exact size, shape, and placement as Fatty’s cowlick—the cowlick I would try to smooth.

My Fatty—now Teddy—is back!