I’m really not a dog person, so why am I so weepy over a dog? Yesterday morning I took our old Buddy for his last slow walk around the block then helped him into the car for his last ride. Our vet was so kind to him – and to me – as she explained the procedure and administered the shot that put him into a deep sleep. With Buddy’s head growing heavy on my lap, I rubbed his ears and told him what a good dog he was. His relaxed snoring was a sweet lullaby that could not stop the pain in my heart as he left me.
Our beloved pets leave us with memories as precious as those of the people who leave us. Often those memories are quite colorful, definitely something to add to our life stories. Who doesn’t remember their pets from childhood – a puppy chewing up your toys…or your dad’s expensive shoes, a frisky kitten attacking your foot…or the living room curtains. I remember Puff pulling me in my skates across an icy pond, I remember being in my pajamas and chasing Tiger in the night to save a crying rabbit, I remember Tammy the cat pretending Charlie the hamster was her baby. Our pets grow up with us and often provide us with our first experience of death. That experience doesn’t get any easier when we become adults, rather our pets move from being playmates to being more like one of our own children. They give us stories that help complete our lives. Now I will remember Buddy’s wistful brown eyes, how he loved being buried in the fall leaves and snuffling in the snow. Most of all I’ll remember how all he ever wanted was to be loved.
I hope there is a dog heaven, and a cat heaven, and even a hamster heaven – yes, I cried when our hamsters died. I’m glad I have Cynthia Rylant’s beautiful Dog Heaven book to comfort me.
When dogs go to Heaven, they don’t need wings
Because God knows that dogs love running best.
Buddy, I hope you can run again, right into the arms of your new Master.
Feel free to share your own pet memories in the Comments. I can use some comforting stories.
This entry was posted in death
. Bookmark the permalink