I’ll be honest — I almost didn’t write this post. This subject is heavy, and I went back and forth on whether to put it out into the world this month. I’d already written a newsletter in this vein, so maybe this was too much… Then I met Enzo’s mom.
At the Paranormal Fest this past Saturday, a woman sat down at my table with tears in her eyes and asked me the question I hear most in this work: “Was he happy? Did he know he was loved?”
Her dog, Enzo, had crossed the bridge the day before. He’d come into her life when she needed him most, and now she was sitting across from a stranger at a psychic fair, one day into missing him, needing those answers and wanting him to know how much he was loved and missed.
Monday morning, she sent me a note:
“I cannot thank you enough for, if anything, providing some insight and reassurance of him, his life, and his impact on both my husband and I. He truly meant the world to us, was our child, and while we feel the hole left, I don’t feel alone.”
That’s when I knew this was the post to write.
I get some version of Enzo’s mom’s question often enough that the name of a place I learned during my animal communication studies completely fit: Preciousville. It isn’t on any map. It’s the place you land in the moment you know your time with someone is running out — and suddenly every ordinary thing you’d normally put off becomes the only thing that matters.
Every Day Is Preciousville
This morning I sat on my porch with my coffee in the crisp fall air, my cat Thor and my small dog Hoot curled up beside me and my other dog Vinny nearby. I had other things I could have been doing. But I stayed there — sat there, with them, on purpose.
Thor is in kidney failure. Hoot is on the other side of an autoimmune illness that’s taken a long time to work through. Vinny struggles with anxiety and has a hard time just relaxing into a moment like that one. This morning, though, all three of them did. We all just enjoyed it — the coffee, the air, each other.
I didn’t wait for a diagnosis to decide this morning mattered. That’s the thing I keep coming back to, in this work and in my own life: none of them stay here as long as we do. So for me, every day is Preciousville. Not because something is always wrong — this morning, nothing was — but because I’ve learned not to assume I’ll get an unlimited number of ordinary mornings like it.
What Shelby Taught Me
I learned this from my border collie mix, Shelby — pure joy in dog form, if a dog ever was.
Shelby was diagnosed with a tumor deep in her rectum that made it hard for her to go to the bathroom. We put her on steroids, changed her diet completely, added what supplements might help. She had a few good weeks — and then we had to make the decision no one wants to make.
In that stretch of time, we did her bucket list. We went back to the small pond near where we used to live and walked the whole way around it. We got ice cream and a pup cup and sat in the grass. Once she wasn’t comfortable enough for the couch or her dog bed anymore, we came down to the floor with her instead. Her best friend, Hoot, never left her side through any of it — Shelby was Hoot’s soulmate. She was literally the only dog Hoot had ever lived with.
Shelby spent those last days entirely present. Entirely joyful. She taught me to see the world with new eyes, the way a child does — like it was all still worth noticing. She did that every day she was with me.
For educational purposes only — this reflects my personal experience and isn’t a substitute for your veterinarian’s guidance on pain management or quality-of-life decisions.
What I Tell People in Preciousville
I told the woman at my table what I’ve learned from communicating with animals who’ve transitioned, Enzo included: they don’t experience time the way we do. They don’t experience death as an ending. He was comfortable, at peace, no fear, no pain, nothing left unsaid. His form changed. He didn’t. He was still with her, and would be until she no longer needed him.
If you’re in Preciousville right now — if the diagnosis has landed and the days feel numbered — this is your invitation: don’t wait. Take the walk. Get the ice cream. Sit on the floor if that’s where they’re most comfortable. It matters more than almost anything else you can do, for them and for you.
→ If you’re facing an “is it time?” decision right now, book an End-of-Life & Grief Support Session — this is exactly what it’s for.
Building Their Bucket List
If you’re caring for a senior pet or one with a serious diagnosis, try building a bucket list together — not a list of chores for you, but a “what actually brings them joy right now” list for them.
Watch what they gravitate toward on a good day: a favorite spot, a certain walk, a particular treat, a specific person’s lap. That’s the list. It’s less about predicting how much time is left and more about making the time that’s there as good as it can be — which tends to ease the guilt and fear for the whole family, animal included.
But you don’t have to wait for Preciousville to do this. Do the good walks, the special treats, the extra snuggle time now, while it’s still just an ordinary Tuesday. Every one of those days is one you’ll be glad you didn’t put off.
Mila’s Story, and Chapter 6
If this piece resonated with you, you’re not alone, and you don’t have to sit with it by yourself. I wrote about a cat named Mila’s end-of-life journey — her own readiness, her own bucket list, her own passing — in Chapter 6 of my book, “Love Through Every Stage of Life.” It’s the chapter I’d point you to first if this is where you are right now.
You can also read Mila’s story on the blog: “What greater gift than the love of a cat.” – Charles Dickens
→ Get the book on Amazon — Healing Through Animal Communication: How to Understand Your Pet’s Messages, Deepen Your Bond, and Find Peace Through Every Stage of Life
Wherever you and your animals are right now — grieving like the woman I met Saturday, or just sitting on an ordinary porch with the ones who are still physically here — I hope you find a way to notice it while it’s happening.
This post is for educational purposes only and is not a substitute for veterinary care. Always consult your veterinarian for your pet’s health needs.
→ Not sure where to start? Email me and tell me about your animal — I’ll help you figure out what kind of support makes sense.