Life after Death for Our Beloved Boxer

By Will Harman

Bandit joined our family about eight years ago as a three-year-old boxer mix who had been given up for adoption. He had too much energy for his former family to handle. The second of our former boxers, Wilson, had recently crossed over, so we welcomed the love and energy that Bandit (whom we came to nickname B, or B-dog) brought into our home. We especially enjoyed watching him play with rocks the way people play soccer, only using his muzzle instead of his feet. He would always put on a show for our guests. And when we visited our property in the foothills, he became “swamp dog”—swimming, rolling, and sitting in the streams and wetlands. He loved life, and we loved him.

Eight or nine months ago, Bandit was diagnosed with mast cell cancer after a lump was discovered on his back leg. We pursued surgery and treatment with our local veterinarian and university. Bandit was always happy to see the caregivers because they gave him love—and treats. Unfortunately, he failed all treatment options, and the cancer progressed. We moved into palliative care. The last few weeks of Bandit’s life were rough. During his last week, he had twenty-one observable tumors. Two were ruptured, and one required frequent care. He wore a cone so he would not open the wound any more. His lymphatic system was compromised, causing one back leg to swell to many times the size of the other.

To look at Bandit, you would think he was miserable—his physical body was a mess. And yet, when I looked into his eyes and asked inwardly if he wanted help leaving the body, the sense I got from him was, No, I just want to be with you. You meaning our family. He did not seem to care about his body and how it looked or felt. He just wanted to be with us. So we spent a lot of time just sitting with him. His body deteriorated, and we knew he would continue to decline until the cancer took his life.

When another tumor ruptured, we made the extremely hard decision to work with our vet to help him cross over.

In the time leading up to the decision, I had been looking for signs to confirm that this was the right course of action. I was watching my dreams. I was asking for inner guidance. My wife, daughters, and I discussed options, and finally, we all agreed that it was the right decision. But there was not a defining inner or outer experience that gave me total confidence. We went to the vet with heavy hearts.

The process is so fast. Scary fast. One moment Bandit is looking into my eyes, and my wife’s hand is on his beating heart. The next moment, he is gone. I have practiced spiritual exercises for many decades and have had numerous experiences showing me that there is life after death. Death is just a transition out of the physical body. Yet, as I sat on the vet’s floor with B’s lifeless body, I couldn’t help but wonder, Is he just gone? The thought surprised me.

That night, I still did not dream about Bandit, which was odd to me. I had had lots of dreams about Wilson, before and after his translation. Why not now? I was miserably sad.

About halfway through the next day, I got an idea: If an inner experience is not happening on its own, I’ll create one. I’ll sit down and do a spiritual exercise and simply imagine what I want to happen. So, that’s what I did. I imagined Bandit running at the farm, swimming in the stream, playing rock soccer, and rolling in the wetland like the swamp dog he was. I imagined it all; I created it. And yet, when I came out of contemplation, I felt better. The experience felt very real. The heaviness was gone. I still missed Bandit, and I do still, but the heaviness was gone. Feelings of acceptance and love filled my heart, and the tears went away. I remembered that, as Soul, we are indeed eternal.

A month or two later, I finally had a dream about Bandit. We were in Mount Airy (the town where I grew up), on the road leading to my grandparents’ house. It’s a small side street lined with big trees. We were on bikes, and Bandit was running beside us. We arrived at the house, and Bandit ran down the driveway and under the deck where they parked the cars. There was a couch outside with newspapers. B jumped on the couch and lay down for about five seconds. Then he jumped up and started playing with the newspapers. He found a ball hidden in the papers and played with that too.

When I dream of Mount Airy, for me it symbolizes the past—of this life or others. My grandparents’ house represents family and love. I think the couch represents comfort and the newspaper, maybe current events. And Bandit’s play is happiness and freedom. In the dream, I saw that B was currently happy and free. He has found comfort with past family members (furry or otherwise).

The dream reaffirmed that we are all eternal and gave me the knowingness that Bandit is doing well. The spiritual exercise of simply imagining an experience proved to be quite powerful for my own healing. It taught me that, when life is hard, we can use the imagination as a powerful tool. It sets invisible forces into motion that can change our awareness and help us heal. We initiate the process, and then a greater force takes over.

Another gift of divine love came during a bike ride along a beautiful and pristine river. Within a half-mile stretch I saw three great blue herons. It surprised me to see three in such a short distance. It felt like a spiritual moment, so I asked inwardly what the herons symbolized. On my inner screen, I saw that each heron represented our past boxers—Bandit, Wilson, and Sampson, our first—living within the River of God. For me, a beautiful symbol that life does go on and that all is well.