How My Emotional Support Animal Became My Spirit Guide

Even in her last days, Little Dog was urging me to write. And since I’d grown used to following her lead, I held my best friend in my arms with my laptop balanced on my legs so we could tell our story together.

It might seem strange that a dying dog would boss someone into putting her lifetime into words, but if you knew Little, you wouldn’t be surprised. She was bold and commanding, and took the job of taking care of me very seriously. She knew best what I needed, and documenting what we’d been through and how we’d gotten there together was part of the transmutation that was taking place. Little Dog was leaving her body, but she wasn’t leaving me.

This is how a dear, brave, bossy little Chihuahua transformed from being my emotional support animal into one of my most trusted spirit guides.

How I Met Little Dog

I met Little in a dog park one summer day. She was alone, no owner in sight. I found out later that she'd been left there by someone who couldn’t care for her but didn’t want to abandon her on the street, hoping that someone who loved dogs would take her home and love her forever. I did … and I did.

She joined our family, which at the time was made up of an old, fluffy lady cat, two precocious young cat lads, and one giant goofball of a German Shepherd named Marcy. Even though she was the last to arrive, Little, as a Chihuahua, felt it was her rightful place to rule over everyone as Queen of Everything. She reigned accordingly for the next 11 years.

Everything changed, though, when we lost Marcy just three weeks after the death of my father. These back-to-back deaths left us exhausted and swamped in grief, and Little and I found we couldn’t bear to be apart.

“Okay, so if you want to do this, these are the rules of being an emotional support animal,” I told her. “You can’t bark at people. And you can’t act mean at all. And under no circumstances can you bite anyone. Ever.”

From Abandoned Pup to Emotional Support Animal

Little Dog took to the job like she’d been born for it. Even if she was still occasionally tyrannical outside of her travel bag at home, in the bag, in public, she was a perfect angel.

Cuddled up with fuzzy blankets and tucked in with her beloved stuffed bunny, Little Dog was so cute and so approachable. She became my gateway to rejoining the world and reconnecting with people.

I’d been dealing with some chronic and disabling health conditions the preceding few years that made navigating the world really hard at times. My illness was isolating and, after a while, my social anxiety became extreme. But Little was an adorable bright light, and people were drawn to us.

I also think that close experiences with death change something in us energetically, and those of us who have been through these things recognize each other even if we don’t realize it. People would come up and tell us stories about those they’d lost, and Little Dog and I found ourselves regularly sharing grief and joy with strangers. We’d weep together in grocery stores as they showed us pictures of their beloved animal friends and we told them stories about Marcy.

It turned out that this was just the beginning for us. Over the next four years, Little and I held space for four more loved ones as they died. We learned so much about death and grief and how hard and beautiful it all can be. I also learned that I had a knack for helping beings build the bridge they would cross over on their way out of this life.

And then it was Little’s turn to go.

Little Dog’s Wisdom from the Other Side

I didn’t realize at the time, but telling our stories was a part of building Little’s bridge, and by urging me to write, she was making sure there would be no gap between us when she left. Little’s death broke me open, but I immediately felt her as the massive presence of light she’d become, and I felt her guidance in my heart and in my soul.

“It had to be that hard,” was the first thing I heard in the voice of this new being she’d expanded and evolved into.

And she was right. Losing the physical connection to those we love is always that hard, even when we know that it means the end of their suffering and the beginning of the relationship as something new. Even though I knew this little friend I’d spent so many years alongside would be with me forever. It was still that hard.

Just as Little was a gateway to me rejoining the physical world, she’s now a gateway to the realms beyond the physical, reminding me how much more is out there when I slow down—and calm down—enough to notice.

Little has been talking to me a lot lately, as I’ve been watching another animal companion battle illness and live joyfully in what remains of her life. She’s reminding me that, even when this dear dog leaves, she won’t really be gone. Little points to the ways she and others I have loved still hold space for me as I live and love and grow. It’s hard for me, sure, and I will miss them forever. But that love doesn’t die, and energies don’t either.

And if I ever forget any of this, or begin to doubt it, I feel her comforting and protecting me the way she always has. And occasionally bossing me around, of course, just for good measure.

4 Tips for Holding Space for Dying Loved Ones

Grounding: I think every spiritual experience should begin and end with some kind of grounding practice. Being connected to our physical life is a necessary balance as we traverse other realms, and helping someone with their death opens us up on so many levels. Do the things that reconnect you with life, with the earth, and with your own body as it’s planted firmly on the ground.

Protection: Remember your boundaries and hold them dear. We’re vulnerable when we go through close experiences with death, and vulnerability can be one of our greatest strengths and greatest teachers. Learn where your energy field begins and ends, then regularly clear and cleanse it of anything and everything that isn’t yours or isn’t for your highest good.

Tighten your support circle: Whom do you trust? Whether it be a therapist, dear friend, family member, spiritual counselor, or some combination of all of these, know who you can talk to, who you can be still and silent with, and who can help you see beyond your raw emotions and into deeper truths. On the other hand, allow your less helpful relationships to shift into the background. If they’re meant to continue, they’ll still be there when you come out on the other side.

Journaling: Recording your experience, as Little and I did, can help move the energies of grief so you can still show up in life in the ways you’re needed. Use whatever means you connect with, whether it be written words, voice notes, artwork, or any other creative expression that resonates with you.

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