Life with the Afterlife E-Book

Robin Brande

• Herausgeber: Ryer Publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

Stories of life after death, second chances, and the power of enduring love.

THE CALLING: A veterinarian discovers she has a special gift with her animals.

BRINDLE: A mysterious little girl survives against all odds.

BELIEVER: A grieving daughter searches for the truth about her parents.

SECOND LIFE: A physicist investigates whether she is caught in a time loop.

RURAL ROUTE: A letter from the past catapults a young girl into a special future.

THE BRIDGE: A grieving widow refuses to believe her husband is gone forever.

FROM THE BONES OF AN OLD DOG: A boy searches for magic after the death of his faithful dog.

A SKIP OF THE MIND: A physicist races against time to save his dying wife.

Leseprobe

LIFE WITH THE AFTERLIFE

STORIES OF LIFE AFTER DEATH, SECOND CHANCES, AND ENDURING LOVE

ROBIN BRANDE

RYER PUBLISHING

LIFE WITH THE AFTERLIFE:

Stories of Life After Death, Second Chances, and Enduring Love

By Robin Brande

Published by Ryer Publishing

www.ryerpublishing.com

© 2025 Robin Brande

www.robinbrande.com

All rights reserved.

Cover art by Chainver-gallery/Canva

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-952383-63-2

Print ISBN: 978-1-952383-64-9

“The Calling” first appeared in the book The Love of a Good Dog by Robin Brande.

“Believer” first appeared in the book Believer by Robin Brande, part of the Dove Season Universe.

“The Bridge” first appeared in Pulphouse Magazine #14.

“Second Life” first appeared in the book Maker by Robin Brande, part of the Dove Season Universe.

“From the Bones of a Good Dog” first appeared in the book The Love of a Good Dog by Robin Brande.

All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

CONTENTS

The Calling

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Brindle

Introduction

Brindle

Believer

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Second Life

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Rural Route

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

The Bridge

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

From the Bones of an Old Dog

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

A Skip of the Mind

Introduction

A Skip Of The Mind

More from Robin Brande

Show Your Book-Loving Style!

The Secret Juror

A Mind for Mysteries

Dove Season Series

The Miraculous Unknown

About the Author

Also by Robin Brande

THE CALLING

INTRODUCTION

Veterinarian Drianne has always had a special connection with her patients. Some might call it a gift.

Dogs and cats seem to know her, even if she has never met them before. And she swears she can sometimes guess what they are thinking and feeling.

There is more to Drianne’s gift with animals than she realizes.

A story of the enduring love between people and their animals.

1

Surgery days were always stressful.

Even just spays and neuters, even though people thought of them as routine, were still opening up a body. Owners dropped off their dogs and cats in the morning thinking they would just go grab a coffee while the deed was done, and the animal would be good to go within about an hour. Like it was factory work.

But for Drianne it was anything but routine.

Almost fifty years old now, she had been a vet for twenty years. And she still sweated every time she sliced open a living, breathing body. It was sacred work, having an animal in her hands.

It was a calling she was too afraid to heed for the first half of her twenties. For the most part because her biology teacher in high school had scoffed at the idea.

“You could never pass the classes,” he told her. “Vet school is rigorous. You’re failing my class and this is easy.”

Those words defined her for so long. She majored in English instead. Compromised.

Gave up.

Turned her ship toward becoming a teacher. A noble calling all its own, even though it wasn’t hers.

It wasn’t until she was driving her grandfather to one of his final cancer treatments that someone managed to break the spell.

“You should do what you want,” he rasped through his tumor-ridden throat. “Don’t listen to anyone. You can do whatever you put your mind to. You’re a smart girl, Drianne.”

If he had said it to her a year before, at a family barbeque or Christmas brunch, she wouldn’t have given it so much weight.

But he died just a few weeks later. It became a kind of directive. The last words of a dying man.

At least that’s what Drianne told herself. Because if she admitted she was doing it because it was what she had wanted to do since she was six, then that high school biology teacher’s words would have won. He had already kept her away from her dream all the way through college.

But Granddad, he was a serious and driven man.

If he told Drianne to do it, she’d damn well better do it.

So she started over. And the classes were hard, no question.

But she also found a kind of grace that overlaid them.

With each test she took, Drianne felt a hand guiding her own as it filled in test answer bubbles or wrote out longer explanations on the page.

The lectures were complicated. But her ears adjusted almost right away. Like there was a translator inside her head, taking scientific concepts and turning them into real dogs and cats and horses.

Drianne could picture the diseases. The injuries.

She could see her own healing hands.

She could imagine the faces of little girls and boys, so worried when they brought in their sick animals, so elated when Drianne returned them well.

She could smell the fur. See the soft and inquisitive eyes. Each class was a new experience in meeting all the animals of Drianne’s imagination. Every hour brought a new set of creatures she could imagine petting and examining and helping.

The day she graduated from vet school she felt a strong grip on her right shoulder. She was standing on the stage with the other graduates, and whipped around to see who had touched her.

No one was there. Not in the flesh.

She lowered her chin so no one would see her lips move.

“Thank you, Granddad.”

She had offers from practices in bigger cities, but she wanted to stay where she was.

Rural Colorado, a small college town called Greeley, near the countryside where her ancestors had been homesteaders who built their own farms and farmhouses by hand.

Eventually the generations evolved toward more suburban lives. Drianne’s mother was an accountant. Her father was an engineer.

Anyone else, other than her high school biology teacher, would have looked at those genetics and assumed Drianne would be great at a science career.

But expectations could be a burden. Whether they were expectations of failure or success.

For the past twenty years Drianne had been learning to ignore expectations and instead follow her heart.

Right now her heart was breaking.

She had an old dog on the surgical table. A fourteen-year-old black Lab named Bear. A good old boy, slow and stiff, but still with life in him. Drianne had known him for many years.

The owners, a retired couple named the Baxters who had raised Bear from a puppy, said the dog still loved his slow walks, sniffing every leaf of every bush, still enjoyed his food, even though it seemed it was getting harder for him to eat.

They thought it might be because of a broken canine tooth that looked infected. They asked Drianne to take a look.

But it was worse than that. Once Drianne pried Bear’s mouth open, she could see the mass inside. The size of a golf ball, growing down from the roof of his mouth.

But she had done mouth surgeries before. Hundreds.

“I can get that out,” she told the Baxters with confidence. “We can at least make him more comfortable for a while. His blood work looks good. He could have another year.”

But once she got him on the table this morning, she knew at most he’d have another week.

The mass had grown so much over the weekend, it was clear the malignancy was going to cut off his airway within days. That was a horrible way to go.

A sweet old dog like this deserved better. She was relieved that the Baxters saw it the same way.

“I can wake him up,” Drianne said when she called them. “Give you another few days.”

“If he’s sleeping now,” Rella Baxter said, her voice choked with tears, “let’s let him sleep. We’ll be there soon to say goodbye.”

Drianne had a room set aside for the terminal patients. More like a bedroom than a treatment room. Soft lighting. Candles. A comfortable couch.

One of her vet techs rolled the mobile unit that continued to pipe in anesthesia, while the other helped Drianne carry the old dog from the surgical table into the special room and onto the couch.

Drianne put a pillow under Bear’s head. His tongue lolled out of his mouth, past the breathing tube, but he looked so sweet. Peaceful. His paw even twitched sometimes while he dreamed.

The Baxters arrived, crying. Drianne told them exactly what she saw when she looked inside. Dave Baxter cried softly into his fist. Rella petted her dog and kissed his face.

“He’s been sleeping about twenty-two hours a day lately,” Dave said.

Drianne smiled at him gently. “And now he’ll get to sleep twenty-four.”

When it was time, when they were ready, Drianne administered the three successive shots. Dave Baxter had left by then, he couldn’t be there, but Rella stayed on until the end.

As Drianne pushed the first syringe, she spoke to the old dog, knowing he could hear.

“You were a good boy, Bear. One of the best. Now go find another body.”

Rella wept quietly, touched by those final words.

But Drianne didn’t say the words lightly.

She knew by now what they could do.

2

It took a few years into her practice before she began to notice a pattern.

Puppies who leaped from their owners’ arms and came bounding toward Drianne as if they knew her.

Kittens who purred so loudly when she held them, the owners often laughed at how unusually vocal they were.

Dogs she met on the street who rushed to her, tails wagging like mad, desperate for Drianne to pet them.

She had always had a way with animals. But this felt like something more.

She was at a veterinarian conference in Denver one year when she mentioned it to one of the other attendees.

The vet, a woman named Linda who had long gray hair and light blue eyes, gave Drianne a peculiar look.

“Let me ask you something,” Linda said. “When you put an animal down, do you say anything?”

Drianne shrugged. “Sometimes. If I know them.”

“What do you say?” Linda asked.

“I tell them they’ve been good. And that I hope they come back some day.”

Linda smiled. “Do you now.”

Drianne felt self-conscious. “It’s just … something to say. Why, what do you do?”

“Oh, I have a whole conversation,” Linda said. “But only if I like the animal. If it’s a biter or screamer or scratcher, forget it.”

Drianne chuckled nervously. She wasn’t sure anymore that they were talking about the same thing.

“What do you tell them?” Drianne asked. “The ones that you like?”

“That they should go find another body,” Linda answered. “And nine times out of ten, they do.”

Drianne stared at her a moment, not quite sure if this was a joke.

“Not all of us can do it,” Linda told her. “Not everybody has the connection. But if you do…” She tipped back her plastic cup and drank the last of her red wine. “You should meet a few people while you’re here. You might be interested.”

3

Looking around at the mostly gray-haired group, Drianne felt distinctly young and underqualified. She was only thirty-five then, in her fifth year of practice. These vets looked like they had been practicing for decades.

There were about a dozen of them standing at one side of the conference room while hundreds of other attendees milled around and mingled.

Linda introduced her. Drianne tried hard to remember everyone’s names.

They were men and women from all over the country. Gary, Indiana. Paloma, California. Chicago. Santa Fe. Provo, Utah. Cincinnati. Some with big city practices, some with small rural practices like hers.

After Linda finished the introductions, she lowered her voice and leaned closer to Drianne.

“We’ve all got the talent,” she said.

Drianne assumed it was a slight brag. Telling her that these vets were all experts at what they did.

“I’m sure,” Drianne answered politely.

An older woman who looked like she might be eighty reached out her soft hand and gripped Drianne’s arm. “She means the special connection. Moving the animals on.”

“Encouraging them to come back,” Linda said.

Drianne was only on the brink of understanding. But before she could ask anything else, the vet from Gary, Indiana broke in. Drianne had already forgotten his name. She thought of him as simply Gary.

“Did you ever read about the Siberian fox study?” he asked.

“You mean … about domestication?” she said.

“Right,” Gary said. “Back in the 1950s a couple of Russian scientists captured hundreds of wild foxes, then chose only the most docile, friendly ones to breed. The ones the scientists could touch without the foxes biting. Within a few years, they had a whole generation of foxes who would lick their faces and follow them around like puppies.”

“That’s what we’re doing,” Linda told her. “Those of us who the animals can hear. Every time we have to euthanize one of our favorite dogs or cats, we tell them to find new bodies and come back.”

“It’s our own way of evolving the species,” Gary said. “Making sure we have more of the kinds of animals we all love. Fewer of the crazy ones and the biters.”

Drianne almost laughed. It was too unbelievable. But as she gazed around at the group of seasoned veterinarians, she saw that many of them were nodding, their expressions serious. The rest were listening comfortably as if all of this bizarre information were all completely known and normal.

“You said you’ve seen young animals who seem to know you,” Linda said.

“Y-yes,” Drianne said.

“Of course they remember you,” the soft-handed woman in her eighties said. “You were kind to them. Animals want only the most loving vets, too.”

“So … you can all do this,” Drianne said, looking around at the group.

“And you,” Linda told her, “I’ll bet. But there aren’t very many of us. I’m always on the lookout at these conferences for more.” She gestured toward her silver-haired colleagues. “We’re a dying breed. We need new blood. I hope you’ll go home and try it, and then tell us what happens.”

4

In the days following the conference, Drianne felt as though she had stepped into an alternate universe. One where vets had powers she’d never imagined.

But of course she wanted to try.

It was the most exciting thing she’d ever heard.

Euthanizing animals had always been the worst aspect of her practice. People expected her to be stoic. Detached. Unemotional.

But she often had to leave the room right away after administering the drugs, to go have a private cry behind the closed door of her office.

Helping an animal die was a sacred duty to her. She wanted it to be as easy and as loving as possible. But it was still taking a life. She would never think of that as routine.

But now. Now she had a new appreciation for her role.

And new hope that she might do something more than just ease an animal out of its suffering.

She had an opportunity to try it just a week later.

Agnes was a beautiful old gray and white Maine Coon cat belonging to one of Drianne’s favorite owners. Tracy Morrow had strung out the end as long as she could.

But finally Agnes wasn’t eating or drinking anymore. And when she walked, it was clear the cat was in terrible pain.

“I could wait for her to go naturally,” Tracy said. “But what if the pain keeps getting worse? I can’t do that to her. It’s not fair.”

She sat with Agnes sleeping on her lap. The cat’s normally well-groomed thick fur looked ragged and matted.

Agnes continued sleeping while Drianne began to examine her.

When she lightly touched the cat’s belly, Agnes’s eyes flew open and she hissed.

Tracy began to cry. “Please. I can’t let her hurt another night.”

Drianne prepared the three shots. She knelt in front of the chair where Tracy held sweet Agnes on her lap.

“You’ve been a good girl,” Drianne said as the needle penetrated the vein in Agnes’s front leg. “Thank you for letting us know you. Now go find another body.”

Tracy wept at those words. She held Agnes to her chest while Drianne administered the remaining shots.

Drianne laid her stethoscope gently against Agnes’s heart.

“Look how peaceful,” she whispered. “She’s gone.”

Drianne left the two of them alone in the room.

This time Drianne didn’t feel the urge to cry.

Instead she hurried to write in the private journal she had bought, recording Agnes’s name and the date and some details about her personality and her life.

Then Drianne waited. While months went by.

In the fall, she saw Tracy Morrow listed on her schedule for the day.

A new kitten. Another Maine Coon.

Drianne knew it from the moment she entered the examination room.

The kitten started meowing at her so energetically, nonstop, it made Tracy laugh out loud.

“Well!” she said. “Guess Miss Abigail has something to say!”

But it was the kitten’s gorgeous green eyes, boring so intensely into Drianne’s, that made her know the two of them had known each other before.

“Hello, beautiful,” Drianne said, taking the kitten from Tracy’s arms.

She turned away so the owner wouldn’t hear. She whispered into the kitten’s ear, “Welcome back.”

5

Now, fifteen years later, Drianne still treated many of her former patients.

Her favorite Labradors with their sweet, goofy smiles.

A mixed-breed shelter dog who was once a Golden Retriever who saved the family’s young daughter from drowning in the lake.

The Bernese Mountain Dog who was once a Dachshund who must have dreamed of being a big dog for a change.

Cats who had lived their full lives and brought joy and love every day to their owners. Now back as playful kittens with enough fresh energy to carry them through another full and joyful life.

And even though some owners vowed they could never get another dog or cat, that it was too painful to say goodbye, Drianne heard time and again about the coincidences.

“I was just walking by…”

“My neighbor’s cat had kittens. As soon as I saw them, I couldn’t resist…”

“This fella just jumped right into my lap! How was I gonna say no?”

Drianne sometimes had to excuse herself, pretend she needed a fresh thermometer or some other equipment, just so she could stand in the hallway outside the exam room and allow a few tears to fall.

The animals missed their owners, too. That much was clear. It wasn’t just Drianne directing the show. Maybe some of them would have made their way back on their own, even if she never told them to find new bodies.

Those animals felt their own calling. To bring joy to these particular people.

Like the Siberian fox experiment in reverse. Sweet animals helping the human race evolve over time, making them happier and kinder, one person at a time.

Drianne’s private journal was now several volumes long. She sent regular reports to the rest of the vets in her special group.

Many of the old ones were gone now. But Drianne and Linda had been finding and recruiting others at the annual conferences.

More vets with the special connection. The special breed who could communicate with their dying patients.

It was sacred work, Drianne told them, having an animal’s life in your hands.

All the more sacred when you could welcome them back.

As sacred as being a high school biology teacher who could encourage a young woman to follow this path.

Or could almost rob her of her true calling with just a few cruel and thoughtless words.

Words carried power. Drianne never doubted it anymore.