Can Lisbeth Tanz really talk to dogs beyond the grave?
By Shera Dalin
As an only child of a divorced mom, I yearned for a pet. But raging allergies kept me from getting a dog until I was about 8. That’s when a snow-white fluff ball my mother named Tiffany became my first dog. She was a sweet but snappish puppy, as American Spitzes tend to be. Tiffy was the sibling I always wanted—just a little hairier than the typical sister.
So when she disappeared after six months, I was heartbroken. My mom and I drove all over the neighborhood in our faded red Volkswagen Beetle looking for her. I feared the worst, that dognappers had abducted her for a life of torture in an animal testing lab.
I never found out exactly what happened to Tiffy, but a sort of answer emerged this summer after a conversation with “pet psychic” Lisbeth Tanz of Imperial. (I tell friends that she’s a pet psychic, but that’s mostly just for the shock value—she’s actually an “animal communicator.”) A writer and editor by profession, Tanz gets requests for help from across the nation for her second calling—communicating with all types of animals. Dead or alive.
Tanz typically gets calls from people with aggressive dogs or cats that urinate outside their litter boxes. Less often, she gets calls from people gladly willing to pay her $75 fee to search for a lost pet. Tanz, who is referenced in The Language of Miracles by renowned animal communicator Amelia Kinkade, will home in on the animal after seeing its photo or talking with the owner. Sometimes what she finds is unpleasant: The animal has died because it was trapped, exposed to weather or hurt. Other times, Tanz can communicate psychically with—but has difficulty locating—lost living animals. In either case, the animals’ and owners’ fear and pain are so disturbing to Tanz that she doesn’t seek tracking work.
So whatever happened to Tiffy? After all these decades, I doubted Tanz would be able to “chat” with her, but I was also nervous that if she could, I might discover something I really didn’t want to hear.
Tanz started by asking me to describe Tiffy. Then she got quiet for a few moments until she “located” her; through Tiffy’s eyes, Tanz accurately described our old duplex and even a bit of the neighborhood.
According to Tanz, Tiffy wandered off and was picked up by a couple with a young son diagnosed with a fatal illness. She decided to stay with the boy (who Tanz believes was named Darin) because “he needed her more.”
I confess I was relieved to find out that my first dog had lived a full life bringing happiness to a child less fortunate than I. Can I verify any of this is true? No. Too many years have passed, and dogs don’t keep address books.
But I can say this: Tanz was so accurate at describing the duplex and discerning Tiffy’s traits—including telling a story she had never heard about Tiffy and a bowl of hot food—that I think she got it right. I choose to believe. And to let a childhood wound heal.
