There are many stories of dogs who anticipate their masters’ return home and will move to the front door or other chosen spot in anticipation. Plenty of rational explanations exist for this, of course. But there are also cases that seem to stand outside the strictly rational. Rupert Sheldrake wrote an entire book on the subject: Dogs That Know When Their Owners Are Coming Home.

I myself have a multi-phase psychic pet story. I leave it to you to decide whether it’s rational or not.

My parents had a dog named Tippy who was a very good girl and when my parents went on trips I would cat and dog sit for them. The cats were okay as long as I took care of their needs and gave them laptime but Tippy would go into deep mourning. She’d retreat to my parents’ bedroom and not leave except to use the dog door to go to the bathroom—then right back into the bedroom. No amount of coaxing and sympathy would bring her out and I even had to take her food and water in there. My parents usually drove on these trips so although I knew the day they’d be back I never knew the precise time yet inevitably about a half hour before they arrived home, Tippy would go to the front door and lay down expectantly.

Tippy loved both of my parents but she was especially fond of my dad. He was a house painter so the times he came home every day varied a great deal. But again, about a half hour before he got home she would ask my mom to let her out front where she’d lay down on the driveway to wait for him. It was always a joyful reunion, as you can imagine.

When my father died, she kept looking for him, but she didn’t ask to be let outside. Except for the evening of the day of his funeral. She asked to be let out and went to lay on the driveway. We watched her through the window, crying, and my mom said, “If she does this every night it’s going to kill me.” But after about five or ten minutes she stood up and started wagging her tail like she always had when Dad got home, looking up at something neither of us could see. After a few minutes she came back to the house to be let in. She never asked to be let out again. My mom and I always believed that Dad stopped by one last time to tell her goodbye and that he wouldn’t be coming home again—at least not in the way she’d been used to.

I know I don’t have to tell you pet lovers this: don’t ever underestimate the remarkable critters we share our space with.

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