Do All Dogs Really Go To Heaven?
I don’t ask God for a lot of favors. I figure the creator of the universe has enough to worry about, and I also speculate sometimes on the whole zero-sum question with regard to intercession. Can God get overwhelmed by trivial requests, so burdened by Lotto prayers that a dying child gets left out? I have no idea, but I try to be undemanding just in case. I have enough guilt as it is.
I also suspect God is as amused and surprised by what goes on down here as the rest of us, by the way. This isn’t a personal theology, just dumb musings on the nature of the unknown. Don’t be offended.
But he’s been throwing up for a week, and not eating. He’s getting x-rays as I write this. I just wait, and wonder if a prayer is in order.
I’ve never really understood. He’s always been a pain to me, an extra chore with no comfort in return. I don’t dislike him; I just have always thought we were too busy and life was too chaotic to take care of a dog.
Now I want to promise that I’ll take him out for a walk every day if he’ll only start eating again and get better. Promise who? God? The one who watches sparrows fall must also keep an eye on my dog, but I’m not sure it’s a priority. So I just sit here and wait.
They say Shelties are smart dogs, so I tested him once. I laid down on the couch and made groaning sounds, moaning and sighing and holding onto my chest. I don’t know what I was expecting. I was pretty sure he wasn’t going to run over and call 911, but I just wanted to see what he’d do.
He jumped off the recliner, where he was taking one of his 40 daily naps, my recliner, and padded over to me. And then he did the oddest thing. He put his head on my chest and stared into my eyes, looking for all the world as if he were listening.
Probably not. I gave him an extra treat that day anyway.
He barks at nothing, and at awkward times. He covers the furniture with hair, he yips when he wants to go outside, he always wants to go outside just when I’m walking in the opposite direction, he goes ballistic when anyone leaves the house and he doesn’t smell all that good.
But I wonder how I feel, how I would feel. It’d be nice not to be stared at suspiciously when I put my shoes on, suspected of harboring plans to actually go outside. It would be quieter. It would certainly be cheaper. The carpet would stay cleaner.
And I’d have my recliner any time I wanted. I could stretch out, relax, ponder the mysteries of God and life and the universe, and reflect on how lucky I am. I am, too. I have family and friends who take care of me when I’m sick and try to cheer me up when I’m blue and tolerate me when I talk too much. I’ll be grateful then, for the peace and quiet and for my good fortune. And maybe then it will occur to me to wonder if any of these good people, who love me so much, would ever think to stop what they’re doing and come, and listen for the sound of my heart.
And then, finally, maybe I will understand.
And it will be too late.
11:44:04 AM 
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