Author Samaya Young
Marbella, Spain

Since I was asked by Patricia to write down my experiences with the transfers of my pets’ identities, I thought to do it well by trying to explain in full how the process was done from my perception of how a transfer is made.

I’ll start with my Knight II, who is a third “generation” due to Patricia’s aid in returning him to me twice already, and hopefully for the rest of my life.

The Soul Identity Transfer of Chatt to Knight and now to Knight II.

I got my first version of Knight in ’91. Back then it was Chatt, and she was a rather badly succeeded mix of a Pointer (lab-pointer mix mom) and a Belgian Shepherd (dad). Though she was the sweetest dog imaginable to me, the mix was not the most auspicious one, since two natural instincts collided whenever she came to the choice of hunting/roaming and guarding.
For me she was a loyal, loving and adoring companion, while the approach of strangers, dog and human alike, would make her ferocious enemy for the brave hearted who dared to draw near.
I had trained her well, heel, sit, down, wait, etc. But as soon as some unsuspecting fellow hiker/visitor would draw near it was quite a task to keep her in check. She even had a tendency to bite people when they startled her, and this of course wasn’t something that could be condoned.
For several years I went through the mind-wracking trouble of keeping her leashed and under constant close supervision lest she’d attack a dog that startled her, or worse yet, a human coming around the corner and threatening what she considered to be her territory.
Something in her breeding had crossed her wiring for sure, forcing me to make that dreaded decision of having her put down before she did someone some serious damage.
Loving her dearly, making up my mind about having her put down in ‘97 was the hardest I’ve ever done even ‘till this very day.



I was heartbroken, not to mention feeling very guilty about having decided on euthanasia, and for two days I was pretty much wallowing in my misery when Patricia told me to get out of my bed and come with her to a local breeder.
Admittedly I wasn’t much the cheering part as we sat there on the floor of the breeder’s patio, watching him tote one breed after the next for our viewing, but couldn’t feel even remotely excited about the prospect of a new puppy, no matter how cute or adorable they looked.
But then, there he came, toting along two 6 weeks old Bobtails, each tucked under his arms and wriggling their legs in their frantic eagerness to get to the ground.
It was love at first sight for me (I wouldn’t have believed it if anyone had told me I would ever fall for Bobtails, but there I was, falling headlong in love.)
Patricia didn’t hesitate at the sight of my attraction towards the two little fur balls, setting the process in motion while I sat there staring at the two being set down unceremoniously.
Two males: One gray and white, the other black and white.
The gray/white was a cheerful one, darting around like a proper lunatic, while the other soon disappeared from sight within seconds of having been put down.
While with our faulty Spanish, Patricia and I inquired after the care Bobtails needed, what they should and shouldn’t eat, I felt this light touch to the small of my back, making me look up from attempting to lure the nervous white-gray nearer, only to notice the black-white lying flat on his stomach behind me, staring up at me with a scarily familiar look in his big soulful eyes.
Floppy, and curly, white hair made his eyes glitter as he peered up at me, seemingly waiting for me to notice his presence, while patiently lying there pressed close to the ground.
Careful, as not to frighten the seemingly timid little one, I turned partway, carefully reaching out to pat his head, flat on the ground, while his nose was only inches away from my backside.
Unlike the gray-white, he didn’t shy away, and even went as far as turning over for a proper belly rub while he stuck his gangly little paws straight into the air.
Suffice it to say that my choice was made in that moment, earning me a wonderful cuddly pup with whose presence my sadness seemed to subside almost instantly.
On the way home, during which he refused to move from my lap for a single second, even when Patricia tried to coax him over, I decided to name him Knight.
Since Chatt had possessed so many faults in character, I thought it a good idea for both of us to start over and build a different relationship than the one we’d shared before.
Yes, little Knight was different, due to the different breed and his sex, but the changes were much appreciated since he soon had all the character traits I had loved about Chatt, without the aggressiveness that she had possessed towards others… even when she had still been a pup.
Knight didn’t show a single sign of shyness or tentativeness when he came home with me. He went sniffing around as if he knew exactly where to go and just tagged along with me as I led him into the house for a proper introduction to the other dogs. It was amazing to see how they sniffed him a couple of times and then just moved on as if nothing had changed.
In the weeks that followed our bond grew stronger. Knight had hardly any trouble learning to walk on a leash. It was as if he already knew how to come to heel, and would tag along… for as long as his young, but rapidly growing, body could manage, that is. He knew what “sit” meant, after repeating the instruction about four times. “Stay” ditto, but what surprised me most was his response to “down”.
One has to understand what a tremendous effort it had been to teach this command to Chatt, the endless hours of telling her “down” while moving my hand down in a flat gesture that took her weeks to understand.
And yet here Knight was, seeing me make the gesture and flopping down on his side to “play” dead, just the way I had taught Chatt to do years before.
I swear, I had tears in my eyes when I saw this, barely able to believe that this transfer could be so real, so complete in such a short amount of time.
I had my Chatt back but this time in a body/breed that was so much more pleasurable for me as well as her, since she was so visibly happy with her new situation and genetic disposition that didn’t give out mixed messages.
Chatt/Knight was content and so was I as over the years the Bobtail turned into a huge and very loyal companion, who wouldn’t hurt a fly unless someone actually posed a thread.


He was with me for eleven years, and even though I knew that I would get him back through Patricia, I hated watching him grow old and frail, way before his time, in my opinion.
Life was starting to get hard for him, a visit to the vet’s confirming that it was age playing parts on him, and several weeks passed during which I would wake in the mornings scared to lift my head to see if he was still alive in his usual spot.
By the time he was starting show visible discomfort, bravely holding on just because he didn’t want to leave me sad, I decided that it was enough, and once again Patricia and I stepped into the car, taking a heavy breathing Knight with us, and headed for a local animal shelter to see if there was a dog that would suit my most beloved and loyal companion.


Through a transfer of one of my other dogs, I knew that a transfer of an identity is easiest on a dog when he’s still alive. He’ll hardly notice it, and will just fall asleep and wake up in the new body, so taking Knight with me seemed like the right thing to do. He at least had the right to know where he’d end up.
We arrived at opening time, a rather dreary and cloudy day with more than a hundred dogs howling in their misery of having been abandoned in cold cages.
Knight slouched in the back seat as we parked and headed inside.
Walking along the multitude of offers there, my eye instantly fell on a scared black, huddling in the corner while staring out with big brown eyes that were just a tad wild as they watched the humans passing by with suspicion.
It was a Great Dane, and from the look of him around six months of age.
Patricia took one look at my face and knew that this was the dog I would want for Knight and assured me that he would suit very well. Quickly, half afraid that the Dane was already spoken for, I headed for the shelter’s attendant and made my inquiries.
According to the man the Dane was six months and had been delivered to the shelter by his previous owner, who’d decided that the dog was just too big to keep in an apartment.
Their loss, in my opinion as I pressed the attendant that I wanted him, and stood aside while the man entered the cage where the Dane was snarling viciously, backing off in fear and aggression as the attendant warned that he was a wily one, who’d be difficult to handle, if he managed to catch him at all.
Though I offered more than once to get him from the cage myself, the man took up to fifteen minutes to get him out, and was weary to hand him to me, when he could barely restrain him on the heavy leash he’d finally managed to snap on to his collar.
What with Patricia nodding at me that it was fine, and my own instincts telling me the same, I assured the man that it wouldn’t be a problem and took the leash.
The Dane (according to his papers his name was Darco) barely noticed the switch and jumped in fright when I patted his flank reassuringly.
He growled exactly one time before he sniffed my hand and calmed down instantly.
He came to heel with a slight tug on his leash and calmly followed me to the office where I would have to pay for my new/old pet and get the necessary papers.
The Dane actually wanted to play with me as we waited for our turn, jumping up and down elatedly as if he’d known me forever. There was instant trust in his eyes, and already I could sense Knight merging with the presiding character.
When it was our turn he cheerfully followed me into the office. Towards the attending vet he behaved like he did when he was in the cage, but he came to me for comfort and stood calmly while he got his chip and injections.
Heading towards the car, I could see Knight sitting tiredly in the backseat, watching our approach with old and tired eyes as his tongue lolled out of his open mouth. The Dane eagerly crawled into my lap in the front seat as I reached back to pat Knight’s head when he leaned closer for a good sniff and to lay his head on my shoulder.
The two looked at each other for a bit, before Knight settled back on the couch exclaiming a noisy sigh of what I, even to this day interpret as one of relief.

Even as we headed home, I could see Knight fading rapidly, and a few miles after departing from the animal shelter he was barely breathing, changing our course straight towards the vet hospital with our regular veterinarian.
Leaving the Dane in the car, and carrying Knight, who wasn’t even able to stand by that time, inside, it took the Vet less than fifteen minutes to realize that he was nearing his end and was well beyond any help.
Age had taxed his heart too much, leaving it enlarged and weakened to such extend that the vet was amazed that he’d held on as long as he had.
Knight went peacefully that evening, his big fluffy head in my hands as the Vet helped him along with an injection that finally allowed his heart to stop beating.
Yes I was sad that night, and I cried, but Knight II filled the gap Knight I’s death had left within just a few days.
I missed the old body, or shell, as I like to call it, whenever I gather my dogs around him, but that is the extent of it. Knight, as I knew him, the loving, loyal and comforting presence of him is still here, fully enjoying his young, virile and healthy body as he uses his ever increasing size to intimidate my other dogs… just the way he did when he was still a Bobtail and in his prime.
Like Knight I, Knight II is the alpha male in my pack, demanding obedience and humility from the dogs, while he resides by my side 24/7 as if he’s never left.



Again, there are some noticeable differences in character, due to the breed change, but all the parts I loved about him (and even Chatt before him) are still there. He still flops on one hip when he sits down. He’ll place his head on my knee when I’m seated, staring up at me with adoration. He barks when food is placed on a high shelf in the same fashion as he did when he was a Bobtail, that annoyingly rhythmical bark that can drive me nuts at times. He stretches out at my feet the way he has always done and he still has a conflict of interest with Bommel, one of my other dogs.
Different, but still the essence of the loyal companion I’ve had with me for the past seventeen years.

The End








The Soul Identity Transfer of Garuda/Gadah and Yhadzy/Yhadzy.



This is another experience I had with Patricia. It started was with the deaths of my Garuda and Yhadzy. The first was a full breed Bobtail, and the second a half-breed Bobtail/Collie, which admittedly wasn’t the best of combinations, but she was a sweetheart nonetheless.

Garuda had been a dog I’d gotten from a breeder who needed a home for his left-overs lest he had to have them terminated, so when I got him he was a scared, shy and terribly nervous dog, who was scared of his own shadow. As a matter of fact, on the day of his arrival he had such fear of open spaces that he tried to hide under a bush while barking wildly at anyone who dared to draw near.
Before that day he had never seen the outside of a cage, so freedom was something he didn’t know how to deal with. It took me months to get him over his fear, and even then he would not venture anywhere unless I was right beside him. Personally I could do anything with him, while others, even family members, could hardly get close to him without scaring him half to death.

Yhadzy was a wonderfully slender pup. Her built was that of a Collie (think Lassie) and her fur that of a Bobtail. She had been the result of experimental breeding from a woman who’d left her at a local Kennel, while she supposedly went for a holiday, from which she never returned. Not unexpectedly the Bobtail mother and her pups were transferred to a shelter where my mom adopted little Yhadzy for me.
I can still remember my brother squeezing himself through the door with the pup on his arm while the rest of the dogs were trying to decide whether to go outside, or sniff up the new scent. She was looking around his chest, long slender paws dangling down his arm, peering into the living room with her completely white head, except for a black patch around her left eye, while the rest of the dogs vied for her attention. It was love at first sight for me.

After being with me for approximately six years, both Garuda and Yhadzy had to be put down just months after each other, after having suffered from a multitude of diseases, worst of which the dreaded southern European disease Leismania (sandfly) through which their immune system had been practically annihilated, and after many years of treatments that failed to work on them.
It was a hard and perhaps too long postponed decision to have these two loving dogs put down, but seeing them look miserable and knowing full well that neither of them could simply enjoy life anymore, I finally had it done.
It was a hard blow for me, as well as the rest of my dogs, who all sensed the loss of these two loyal companions.
Though I understood, it was quite painful to hear from Patricia that Yhadzy and Garuda both didn’t wish to return for a bit, so, not wanting to loose these two precious identities, I asked her to keep tabs on them until they were ready to return to me.

They took about a year of “recovering” time before I got the happy news.
Apparently, the local vet had two Labradors in his practice that were up for Euthanasia due to the fact that their previous owners could no longer keep them now that they had a baby on the way, and they were unable to find a new home for them.
A blond male Lab and a black female Lab practically bounced into my arms when Patricia delivered them to me on an early morning little more than two years ago.
They were older than I’d expected, both well past a year, but recognition was instant the moment we were face to face.
The male was obviously Yhadzy, while the quieter black was Garuda (now Gadah) clearly visible in the very mature expression in her eyes.

It surprises me every time to see how my other dogs respond to “transferred” dog identities. I’ve had enough new dogs added to the large pack my family and I keep to recognize a clear contrast between a new character and an old one returning.
If the identity hasn’t been with us before, the pack will go towards the new arrival, en masse, following the poor new addition around for days until they’re finally used to the smell… as is common with the arrival of a new pet.
But it is quite different when an old identity is placed within a new dog. Yes, the dogs will still come forward for a sniff, but their interest is considerably shorter. A few hours at most and after that they loose interest completely and treat the addition as if it’s been here forever.

But back to Yhadzy and Gadah (Garuda).
My personal pack of nine accepted them without trouble. Except for Knight, my alpha male, who always had an attitude of mild forbearance to both dogs, none of my pack seemed to think that anything had changed. As a matter of fact, my other Bobtail, Bommel, was thrilled with Gadah’s return (Garuda and Bommel came from the same breeder, so they were probably brothers of a different litter and got along famously) and interacted with the “new” black Lab just as he’d always done with her predecessor.

Though, due to the fact that both Yhadzy and Gadah are older than is preferred for a “transfer” there are a lot of differences with their predecessors, in my opinion they’re good differences.
Gadah doesn’t have the emotional issues Garuda used to have. She’s very confident, composed, trusting, playful and always up for a rowdy game with the other dogs, while she still has that particular way of sitting down beside me and turning her head upwards to look me in the eyes… like Garuda used to do.
Yhadzy is quieter as a Lab now than he was as a Collie/Bobtail mix, not nervously or frantically inclined at all, which is a wonderful side effect that comes from the late “transfer” to an older dog, as well as the change of breed. But the affection is still there, and to me that is the most important thing.
They are happier now than they’ve ever been, a wonderful (re)addition to my group.