Alfie: Best Boy, Best Bunny, Best Friend
‘You pay too much attention to what others think. Trust your own feelings more and act on these. This is what will bring you happiness.’
ALFIE
The first animal I ever consciously communicated with was a rabbit. That was back in 2004. Here I was again, years and countless rabbit chats later, with a request from Deborah to communicate with her rabbit, Alfie.
It was the beginning of 2010 when Deborah contacted me from her home in the middle of England. She was managing corporate-level customer service at the time. She wrote:
‘I would love you to contact Alfie. He was four years and nearly seven months when he passed over. We’d been together for four years and six weeks.
Please can you let my darling baby boy know I love him just as much as I always have and that I miss him more than words can say? I think of him throughout each day and hope he is happy and safe.
Please let my baby know that no bunny will ever take his place. If I had one wish I would wish for him to be with me again. Words cannot express how much I miss him and love him. And everything I did for him was with love and his best interests were always foremost in my heart. I hope I did the right thing for my baby at the end.
Please also let him know he has been a remarkable teacher and I have grown as a person because of knowing him. My love is as deep for him as always and I hope so much that one day we will meet again.’
The first time Deborah laid eyes on Alfie was in October 2004, in a pet shop. She held him on her lap and they looked at each other for a few seconds.
‘He must have seen me for the bunny amateur I was. He gave me a swift nip, leaped into the air and hopped away as fast as he could in a courageous attempt at freedom.
It was at this point that I found myself saying, “I’ll have him.”
I wasn’t entirely sure why I’d said this. There was certainly no way I could have predicted the massive impact this bunny would have on my life. But I’d made my decision and Alfie came home with me the following day as my house bunny.’
Deborah had already tried to get in touch with Alfie via an animal communicator, but it hadn’t worked out. She said, ‘I didn’t feel the person had him – it didn’t make sense.’ Despite this poor experience, she was willing to give animal communication a second chance. I knew to keep her faith in it I would need to provide concrete impressions that she could verify.
I held Alfie’s picture and saw a handsome white dwarf lop rabbit with brindle and tan bursts here and there. He had the breed’s signature long, floppy, delicate ears and white paws.
My first impression of him was of a very smiley rabbit with a deep soul. Although he was physically small and compact, there was something all-encompassing about him. He had a large aura and I got the sense that he had been here before – it wasn’t his first incarnation. I felt he was capable of reaching into my solar plexus and knowing me. He was fun, mischievous, and I felt he had been gentle with Deborah when still in his physical form. I also felt he liked to have a laugh.
I e-mailed some initial impressions over to Deborah:
‘I feel he had a lump along with pain down the left side of his face and upper teeth area; he loved you to hold his ears and admire them; he was a house bunny: he preferred to be in the warm rather than outside; he had a huge appetite and could eat and eat the pellets you gave him; he adored cuddles on your lap and would be very selective about who else touched him. He described an indoor “large wire cage” with lots of “comfort bedding” where he liked to hang out.’
‘It all makes sense,’ she verified. Then added, ‘I gave him a large wire dog cage with blankets in it that he could hop in and out of but was a place of his own.’
‘When you called him, he’d come to you.’
‘Definitely,’ she replied.
Along with the other impressions there was one particular detail that satisfied Deborah that I had connected with her rabbit: ‘If there was any flaw in his character it was his obsession with chewing the skirting boards as his teeth grew through.’
‘So true!’ Deborah agreed. ‘He had his favourite places where he’d chew. None of my subsequent bunnies did this – it was solely an Alfie habit.’
Feeling happy with the connection, we arranged a telephone appointment to go through Alfie’s communication.
Deborah began, ‘Does he visit me? Are there signs I should look for?’
Alfie replied instantly, ‘Yes. Feel me on your chest.’
‘I’ve imagined him on my chest!’ Deborah exclaimed. ‘When he passed initially I thought about him all the time and missed him immensely. I used to lie on the sofa and remember him on my chest and picture him being there with me stroking him. I’ve longed for him to be with me again, so this gives me a lot of comfort. But where is he?’
‘In heaven, of course,’ he communicated cheekily. ‘Where you want me to be! But I’m here, close by your side too. And everywhere, everywhere you want me to be.’
‘Is Alfie happy where he is?’
‘Yes, very happy,’ he replied. ‘No more pain in my mouth. I feel lighter and freer. Carefree, just as you’d want me to be.’
Deborah explained, ‘He had a lot of problems with his mouth. He had impacted teeth growing at funny angles and the vet had to clip the ones at the back under anaesthetic. His answer reassures me he’s OK.’
We continued with the questions.
‘What was the passing over like for him?’
‘Not as bad as it was for you. I just relaxed then fell asleep. That’s how it is, hopefully. No heart attack. I am peaceful now, so don’t worry.’
Deborah said, ‘I was with him and he was put to sleep at home, but it was horrendous for me. I do have tremendous guilt. It was such a hard decision – the hardest decision I have ever had to make. He was my little boy. It was so hard to get my head around it, but I knew it was the best way.
‘Another thing I would like to know is if I move house, will he still visit me? I can’t bear to leave where we lived together, but I will have to shortly, and this worries and saddens me, as our home has so many memories and I feel close to him here.’
Guardians often express concern about moving home when one of their animals has died. The main worry is that they are leaving the spirit of their animal behind, whether that is because of the memories, the energetic presence of the animal or the fact that their body is buried there.
Alfie gave Deborah the reassurance she sought: ‘Don’t worry about this. Our memories are in your heart. Where you go, I go. Take my picture to remind you. We’ll always be together in love.’
‘His picture is on my bedroom wall,’ she said, ‘and I will take it when I go. But will we meet again in this lifetime? And, if so, will he be a bunny and how will I know it’s him?’
‘Not this one, but definitely the next one,’ he replied. ‘You’ll know me – I’ll be the tall, dark stranger. We will fall in love and be together.’
‘Human?’ Deborah queried.
‘Yes,’ I told her, ‘I believe he’s explaining he’ll be human.’
There was silence on the phone as Deborah took in this surprising message. It’s not unusual for people to believe that animals reincarnate as animals and people as people. But in my view, everything is possible and there are no hard and fast rules in heaven or limitations to reincarnation.
‘I would love to know how Alfie felt about his home and me,’ Deborah went on. ‘Does he have any favourite memories?’
‘You are the kindest, sweetest soul and of a sensitive nature. You pay too much attention to what others think. Trust your own feelings more and act on these. This is what will bring you happiness,’ Alfie said.
Then he gave an image of perching on the arm or back of a chair and watching TV with Deborah. I asked him what they would watch together and heard the theme tune of Hollyoaks. It’s not a programme I watch personally (my allegiance is with Neighbours), but I catch the trailers occasionally, so I recognized the tune.
Deborah was silent on the other end of the line. Then, astounded, she admitted, ‘Hollyoaks was – and still is – my guilty pleasure. I was in my late thirties when I watched it with Alfie and I didn’t tell anyone apart from my husband. Alfie would sit on the back of the chair or lie on the rug and we used to laugh at him with his little back legs stretched out. He would lie with our second rabbit, Poppy, who arrived in 2006, two years after Alfie. They used to look like they were watching TV together.’
At the end of his communication Alfie added a short message: ‘Be true in your heart, dear angel. Listen to your own inner being, inner voice, and I will speak to you there. Be gentle, kind and true and you will do well. I will be proud still.’
‘It feels so like him,’ Deborah said. ‘Just before I contacted you I had a dream I was with Alfie and he was healthy and well. It was this dream that spurred me on to e-mail you because I felt as though I was with Alfie for the first time since he’d passed. I felt it was a sign from him that he was around still and OK. I’d had dreams of him before, but when I’d get up close it wouldn’t be him, it would be another bunny. That was the only dream that was him totally and utterly, and we recognized each other. He was playing what I can only describe as peek-a-boo around a house and I was following him and when I reached him, I said, “Alfie, is it really you?” His markings were exactly right and the little blonde streaks of fur seemed to glow. He looked so healthy and perfect.’
After the communication Deborah wrote:
‘I couldn’t stop crying, because not only did it feel like him but you were giving me information that wouldn’t have fitted another bunny, so it had to be him. I was overwhelmed with emotion: comfort, sadness, reassurance, longing.
Your communication really helped me to move forward with life again. I felt there must be life beyond for you to come out with details of his wire cage and Hollyoaks, and I was bowled over when you mentioned the lump along the left side of his face. The vets thought it was an abscess initially, but it turned out to be cancer. The fact that you got the correct side and place was incredible.
His personality was so huge that he opened my eyes to just how wonderful, fun and intelligent bunnies really are. He would come when called. He’d ask to go outside or for food. He was cheeky and mischievous and seemed to have a knack for getting into places he shouldn’t. He totally owned the house and would hop around, jumping on furniture and racing down the sofa or along windowsills at high speed. He would race to welcome me home, circling my feet in a sign of deep affection. If I’m totally honest, before Alfie, I had no idea that rabbits had so much about them and such depth of character. Alfie changed that. My family had always been dog people and initially I wondered whether Alfie would be enough for me, but he was more than enough – he was the heart of our home. He brought happiness into my life on a daily basis by just being himself and making me laugh, by following me around like a little dog, by licking my foot if I happened to stand by him, by sitting on his back legs like a meerkat. When I talked to him he was so happy he would lick the fur on his chin. He would race up and down the stairs and suddenly make you jump by appearing in the doorway. He’d stop and look at you, then hop over for fuss. He would lie on the bed with me with his little back legs sticking out. We would also lie on the floor together with our legs sticking out and our foreheads and noses touching and I would tell him he was my best boy, my best bunny and my best friend, and he would lick my face or hand to show his love for me.
Alfie showed me how to live completely in the moment and I told everyone about him. He was a rock who was constant through some difficult years in my life: a lonely relationship, the break-up and meeting my wonderful partner, Lee. Alfie was there when I found out I was pregnant and when I nearly died through it being ectopic. Alfie was there when I discovered I would not be able to conceive children naturally and he kept my spirits up during the gruelling IVF. It was about six weeks into the IVF that he began to paw at me frantically and nip me, something he never did. It felt as though he was trying to tell us something and then Lee and I realized he had only ever done this once before – when I had last been pregnant. We felt it could only mean one thing and hoped and prayed he was right. Days later a hospital visit confirmed what Alfie already knew – I was expecting. We were over the moon. Not just once but twice my bunny had known and communicated to me that I was pregnant.
Alfie got me thinking about all the other bunnies out in the world who weren’t as fortunate as him, and that prompted Lee and me to adopt Poppy, a beautiful silver-grey and white dwarf lop. Alfie and Poppy were very happy together, but he and I kept our special bond and would spend hours together cuddling.
It is said that with every life there is a death. Our gorgeous son was born in July 2008 and after the difficult time of getting pregnant everything had now fallen into place for me. Yet just two months later Alfie was diagnosed with the most aggressive form of bone cancer on his nose and was given at best a few weeks to live. Initially the vet had diagnosed the lump as an abscess, but this new diagnosis changed everything.
I was beyond heartbroken. I couldn’t stop crying and Alfie literally licked away the tears that fell down my face. He was never grumpy and he never showed just how much pain he was in as the growth on his face grew larger each day. He showed me what it was to be courageous and I loved him all the more for his amazing strength of character. He was such an inspiration.
As the days flew by I wanted to capture moments and freeze them in time. I remember sitting with the bunnies, my son and Lee one autumn evening and saying, “This is happiness – being with your family.”
Inevitably, Alfie went downhill and I had to make the most difficult decision of my life: to help him pass over to the other side.
The night before, it was as though he knew and was saying goodbye. We must have sat cuddling for two hours, tears pouring down my face and Alfie licking them away and supporting me with his love.
Alfie passed over at home on 6 December 2008 with all of us who loved him at his side. Even in his passing over he led me to Pea and the concept of animal communication. I kept coming across animal communication in books and my husband heard of it several times on the radio and told me about it… it felt as though I was getting little signs. This consultation has not only opened up a wonderful new world for me but also given me the reassurance that Alfie is OK, that there is an afterlife and that one day we will be together again.
I always had a strange knowing, just a gut feeling, that Alfie had been sent to look after me at a time in my life when I needed him, but that when my life was on the right track his time with me would be up and he would have to leave.
I miss him more than words can say. This remarkable bunny taught me so much about rabbits and that they deserve a better life than many get. He taught me that rabbits have just as much personality as other animals. Due to his presence in my life I am less selfish than I was and I have deeper empathy with and compassion for all animals.
I have learned that a strong bond of love and companionship doesn’t have to be human – it can come in the form of fur and four legs. My love for Alfie, and his for me, has given me a life-long passion for bunnies, so much so that I have started scribbling my learnings down. My love for both Alfie and Poppy has led to looking after more bunnies, supporting rescues and sanctuaries, meeting some wonderful like-minded people and spreading the word about the wonder of bunnies.’
Timing is everything. Just before I sat down to write Alfie’s chapter I contacted Deborah to check she was still happy for her story to be included in this book. She replied:
‘It is funny that I read your e-mail late last night. I have been thinking of Alfie a lot over the last few days. I even saved a little lost bunny on my front drive two weeks ago and guess what his name was? Alfie! I really like to think it was a sign from my boy that he is around me still…
Through Alfie I have learned not to take life for granted and to treasure just being with those I love, four-legged or otherwise, and to truly live in the moment. Since I became more aware I have stopped eating meat and can’t believe I ever did now. This cheeky and high-spirited bunny was the most wonderful, loving companion that I could ever have wished for and we shared a bond unlike any other I had experienced before. So would I say I am a better person from having Alfie in my life? Most definitely.’
Animals have a much greater perception of physical changes in our body than we do. Alfie knew Deborah was pregnant – twice. Evidence has shown dogs can sniff out illnesses like cancer, epilepsy and diabetes, and they can give advanced warning of blood sugar drops, heart attacks and seizures. In fact, it’s been reported that dogs are accurate 97 per cent of the time when million-dollar machines only have a 90 per cent accuracy rate. It’s not only dogs, though – cats can detect illness too. At a nursing home in Rhode Island a cat called Oscar knew when someone was about to die and would sit with them offering comfort until they had passed over. He correctly predicted the death of 25 residents.
Given they have so much awareness of what is happening with humans, undoubtedly animals have a great deal of awareness of what is happening with themselves. I’m talking about their perception of their own physicality. Previous animals in this book have explained that they know they are ill and have been able to describe their illness. Some have also been aware they will recover and it’s not their time to transition. On the other hand, just this week I came across an owl with a broken wing who knew he was too ill to survive and wanted a quick death so he could fly again on the other side. Humans were desperately trying to save him, but he knew all attempts would fail. They did fail and his suffering was ended with assisted transition the following day.
These experiences need to get us thinking about animals differently. We need to broaden our scope of what animals are capable of understanding. In essence, we need to stop being the ‘dumb animal’ on this planet and open our eyes to the true intelligence of our co-inhabitants – our animal brothers and sisters.
In the next chapter we head to Egypt to hear the remarkable story of an extraordinary cat called Zanzoun, her special relationship with her guardian and how she was able to soothe her guardian’s heart with evidence of her soul’s survival.