When we open our hearts, angels appear in the form of guiding voices, helping us find our way in the darkness of life.
~Paulo Coelho, Brida

It had been nearly two years since Nellie, my first Westie, had passed away after a long illness. The following Christmas, my husband Paul gave me a handmade gift certificate good for one puppy of my choice. Having been so heartbroken over losing Nellie, and feeling I would be disloyal to her memory, I wouldn’t allow myself to consider getting a replacement dog. My gift certificate remained tucked away in my desk.

Deb, a friend from the West Highland White Terrier Society of Connecticut, and I had made plans to attend a book signing. When Deb got into my car, her smile was bright, and her hands were aflutter with excitement.

“Have you seen the email about the puppy that Kathleen’s fostering?”

“No.”

“There’s a Westie puppy up for adoption.”

Puppies were exhausting and needed constant attention. Then there were the endless puddles to mop up, not to mention the books, slippers, or glasses that would be destroyed because either my husband or I would forget to move them out of reach. I thought the Westie in our Society’s rescue program should be adopted by someone ready to handle a new puppy.

I shook my head. “Not interested, but thanks for thinking of me.”

Before I put the car in gear, Deb said, “Would you mind stopping at a psychic fair? We’ve got plenty of time, and it’s on our way.”

“What’s a psychic fair?”

“It’s a gathering of psychics who do tarot-card readings, crystal healing, and offer spiritual advice.”

The voice in my head said, There’s a sucker born every minute.

I shrugged.

“Why not?”

The fair was held in a nondescript function hall. Two meeting rooms were lined with tables and chairs for the psychics and vendors selling crystals, handcrafted jewelry, essential oils, and books.

“Walk around and check it out,” Deb said. “There are two psychics I want to see. Let’s meet back here in half an hour.”

As I wandered around, the heaviness of frankincense and patchouli incense made me long for fresh air. Shadows from candles flickered across the faces of psychics and their eager customers. I eavesdropped on tarot and palm readings, noting the common themes of finances, romance, and health concerns.

I shook my head and thought, What a bunch of hogwash!

In the second room, a sign advertising “Angelic Messages” caught my attention. Despite my skepticism, I asked the psychic what an angelic message was and how it worked. This woman, whose soft face was framed in gentle wisps of light brown hair, smiled as she answered my question. “Angelic messages are channeled through me to a person who may be receptive to hearing advice or thoughts from his or her angel.”

Despite my better judgment, I asked, “How much?”

“Fifteen dollars.”

Fifteen dollars seemed a small price to pay for a story I could tell at parties for years to come.

I handed her the money and sat down. I said nothing, knowing the only obvious thing about me was that I was a woman wearing a wedding ring.

What will she start with? Finances, health concerns, or marital problems?

Instead, she closed her eyes and asked me to do the same. The skeptic in my head continued to taunt me. This had better be good.

A few minutes later, she told me to open my eyes. When she asked, “Is your mother on the other side?” I leaned in.

“Yes.”

“There’s a little white dog standing by your mother’s side.”

My heart stopped. She had my full attention now.

“She wants you to know that she’s fine, and that it’s okay for you to get another dog.”

This woman knew nothing about me, my mother, or the Westie whose death had left me heartbroken.

I couldn’t stop the flood of tears that rolled down my cheeks. She handed me a tissue and asked if I understood the message. All I could say was, “Yes.”

I was still crying when I met Deb at the exit.

“What happened?”

As I shared the message I’d been given, her face brightened.

“It’s a sign. You have to adopt that puppy!”

“What puppy?”

“The one Kathleen’s fostering.”

After the author’s talk, I called Kathleen. A half-hour later, I was on her doorstep, ready to meet my destiny.

Tucker, a three-pound, furless, white puppy, wore a tiny, blue-striped turtleneck sweater and looked more like a mouse than a puppy. His ears and tail were much too large for his little body. I wondered whether he would grow into them or if they would be the thing people noticed first, like someone whose nose or teeth are too big for their face.

I was instantly smitten by him as he hopped forward and backward in the most peculiar way.

“How did he end up in our rescue program?”

“A couple bought him over the Internet,” Kathleen said.

I shuddered. Apparently, they weren’t aware of the horrific condtions of puppy mills.

“After retrieving him from the airport, their vet diagnosed him with ringworm and shaved off all his fur. He told them their new pup would have to be quarantined from their other animals for forty days. They couldn’t keep him because of the husband’s medical condition, so the wife called our rescue program and surrendered the pup rather than pay to board him for forty nights.”

She continued, “Tucker was malnourished, but he’s got a good appetite now, and his fur will grow back.”

“I want him!” The words flew out of my mouth. Then, I back-pedaled a bit.

“Of course, Paul needs to see him before we make a final decision. It’s just a formality since I have a gift certificate entitling me to one puppy of my choice.”

“When will he be home?”

“Wednesday night. I’ll have the paperwork ready. If he’s in agreement, we’ll proceed.”

Before leaving her house, I snapped Tucker’s picture. Later that night, while looking at his image, I realized that something inside me had shifted and been replaced with an excitement I’d felt the few times in my life when I’d been brave enough to open my heart.

Three nights later, after I picked up Paul from the airport, we stopped at our favorite pizza place. While waiting for our dinner, I handed Tucker’s picture to Paul and said, “I’m ready to cash in my gift certificate.”

His eyebrows furrowed.

“What is this?”

“This is our new puppy.”

He groaned.

After dinner, we drove to Kathleen’s house so he could meet Tucker. He wasn’t as smitten with our sweater-clad puppy as I had been. Instead, he shook his head and said, “If you’re sure…”

“Very sure.”

Two days later, Kathleen delivered Tucker to us in a gift bag. That was sixteen years ago. Since then, he has matured into his body and developed an uncanny resemblance to Nellie. When Tucker nuzzles his head against my leg, the way she used to do, it makes me wonder if she’s sending me her love through him.

— Amy Soscia —