This is really short, and it happened just before the holiday season of 2008.
Some background: Our youngest son has a thing for dogs. My husband and I prefer cats. Our son (who is NOT a little kid, but rather a serious Failure to Launch) has an uncomfortable habit of bringing dogs into our home and expecting everyone else to train them. I can't begin to count how many times this has happened, but the most recent one is what I'm writing about.
Now, to his credit, this young man has a compassionate streak, and he brought the dog here because he was just a little pup who was constantly being done out of his food by the bigger dogs where he lived (long and not particularly germane story there). Unfortunately, the little houndling got sick and died after a few weeks.
The weird thing is what happened that afternoon, after the little one had been laid to rest in the back yard.
I was sitting in the dining area, which gives a clear view to the bedrooms and secondary bath on that side of our house. I looked up and could have sworn I saw that dead puppy going into my son's bedroom. He was little and brown and a tail-wagger, and I'm pretty sure I'd recognize him anywhere.
That's the one and only time I've ever saw anything like this. I wonder if he just wanted to come back for a final head scratch or have I finally gone over the edge?