The Healing Journey

January 22, 2026

“He was sending me messages”

By Patricia Martin

I grew up with dogs, but Charlie, my Maltese, was the first dog I had as my very own. He had a different temperament — smart and sweet but more reserved, like he didn’t know he was a dog. He ignored other dogs and liked cats.

Charlie and I were “psychic” together. My ex-husband told me he always knew 10 minutes before I got home because Charlie would get suddenly alert and stay by the door. This was remarkable as I did not have a routine of coming and going.

When he was nearly 14, I started thinking about how he wouldn’t be with me forever. That’s part of the deal with a pet; chances are you’ll outlive them, which is sad but unavoidable, so you cherish every day they are in your life.

One day I came home from work, and as I put my key in the door, the thought popped into my head, “What would I do if I found Charlie dead on the floor?” I immediately told myself to dismiss that morbid thought and opened the door. As usual, Charlie and my cat Patch greeted me. Ten minutes later, I hear a thud, and Charlie collapsed on the ground. He had an enlarged heart, and it was his first and only attack. I like to think Charlie died of a big heart.

I drove to my vet with Charlie on my lap, knowing he was gone. Dr. Bill lovingly placed Charlie on his exam table, and I pet him nonstop as we talked. He knew Charlie since he was a pup, and everyone at the clinic loved him. I had to leave with a heavy heart. Charlie was to be cremated.

I did not call anyone about Charlie’s death. It was between me and him, so I drove 40 minutes crying. About 10 minutes from home, I put on the radio. There was this dreamy song playing I had never heard before or since. The only words were “Go on home, your mama’s calling you, she misses you.”

I pulled into my driveway, crying, still listening to the song. When it finished, the DJ announced it was a song called “Cosmic Charlie” by the Grateful Dead. I started laughing, and of course crying, saying out loud, “OK, God. OK, Charlie, now I know you’re Cosmic Charlie!”

I called in sick the next day, and when I turned on my radio, there was an ad for the Cosmic Charlie restaurant. I’ve never heard that ad before or since.

When I got back to my office, some friends said, “You have to check out Cosmic Charlie Restaurant’s website.” I did, and its logo was a dog! All this happened within 48 hours of Charlie’s passing, and it gave me great comfort to know he was sending me messages and is now “Cosmic Charlie.”

My sister and I scattered Charlie’s ashes in the woods at Lindenwald, the home of Martin Van Buren in Kinderhook, NY. I lived nearby and would walk him there, and the park rangers loved him so he became kind of the mascot. Anyway, when we went to the woods with Charlie’s ashes, we could feel eyes on us and looked, and there were goats lined up against the fence, watching, as if they were silent witnesses. And suddenly black birds gathered and sat in the trees, watching silently. It was quite a sacrament for us.

(Writer Patricia Martin lives in upstate Connecticut. Her prose and poetry have appeared in many publications, and she is author of “The Right Side of Forty: Celebrating Timeless Women.”)

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