Tribute to a Dog

 

Our dog died today.

 

I’ve had dogs before, and eventually they die. It’s always tragic. It’s always painful. Why is that, I wonder?

 

I’ve always said that dogs are of God and cats are of Satan, their respective fathers. Dogs give unconditional love. They are protective and friendly. Cats aren’t. They are self-centered and conniving.

 

I remember every dog I’ve ever had (or most, at least). I remember crying when these dogs have died, feeling as if I have lost a human friend, hurting as if my family is suddenly one member smaller. I remember being told that dogs go to heaven, even before the stupid cartoon came along. I remember feeling loss when, as an adult, I realized that this may not be so. We’re given no inkling in Scripture that it is. In fact, animals have a very low position in Scripture, and why would God let them into Heaven?

 

I like to think about Heaven. I look forward to it. Some people don’t. I think that they don’t because they’re afraid. Perhaps they’re afraid of the judgment part. What I really think they’re afraid of is leaving this life. They love this life too much. I don’t hate living, but being here doesn’t prevent me from looking forward to something better. What will that something better be? I don’t know. I’m confident though that the Architect of the Universe has come up with something really good. Heaven, I feel, is God’s material magnum opus.  It’s the pièce de résistance. It’s what we’ve all been waiting for.

 

I have an idea of what Heaven will be like. All my dogs will be there. After all, why would God create an animal, pour into it great traits such as faithfulness, empower it with such unconditional love, and then exclude it from Heaven? Doesn’t make sense, does it?

 

Penelope was a good dog. Not a smart one, but a good one. She loved popcorn. She loved to play “Sockie,” which is our own private brand of “Fetch.” She had claimed a blue chair in our living room as her own.

 

We saved Penelope from what I’m sure would have been certain death. She was in a pound in Sherman, and we rescued her from her unwanted existence and gave her our love and our home as her own. She had a crooked front leg, evidence of her former life that she couldn’t hide. It didn’t slow her down, though. Everyone loved Penelope. Those who didn’t were not to be trusted.

 

She fancied herself bigger than she was. She would bark at cars passing by, or people walking down the street. She even attacked a deer, which called her bluff and scared her silly. I’m certain that she felt the same mastery over the four-wheeler that ended up taking her life today.

 

She would sit on the floor by my chair and wait for me to invite her up. I’ll miss that.

And now for my vision…

 

I walk into the gates of Heaven. The Lord of Heaven whom I’ve read about since my childhood meets me there. He holds out his hand. There hovering above the wound that never healed is the world—the whole world. I feel the brightness of the sun in His presence, but I don’t squint. I soak it up. He turns aside to reveal everything I’d hoped Heaven would be. My mother, whom I’ve missed so much, steps up, hugs me, and, seeing the wonder in my eyes says, “It only gets better. It only gets better.” She then takes me by the arm and leads me along that golden path, lined on both sides by people celebrating my arrival. The crowd is all smiling. They’re all people I’ve loved and people who have loved me, their old bodies rejuvenated as only the Architect could. Everyone wants to shake my hand, but it always ends in a hug. Everyone’s glad to see me, but not because of me. It’s one more voice in that Heavenly choir—one more voice to sing the praises that can no longer be contained.

 

I notice a smaller crowd gathering at my feet. It’s another group of old friends. Ruff, Smiley, Snoopy, Red, Mouse, and Penelope. Tails wag. I bend down and pet them all.

 

Thinking about all of this, I recall a bumper sticker I once saw:

 

“Lord, make me the kind of man my dog thinks I am.”