by June Cotner
All the animals who have been ill and old are restored to health and vigor; those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by. The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind.
They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. His bright eyes are intent; his eager body begins to quiver. Suddenly he begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster. You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart.
Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together.
Author unknown
Pet Heaven
There’s a place beyond the rainbow
That God prepared with care
So when our pets must leave us
We’ll know that they are there.
It is a special sanctum
Where they can rest and play,
Knowing we will claim them
Again some joyous day.
Our bond will be renewed
Just as it was before;
The undying love of a pet—
You cannot ask for more.
I pray for such a Heaven,
For in my heart I know
Wherever God does take them—
That’s where I want to go.
C. David Hay
Summerhill, August 1, 2003
For Niki
Fourteen and a half years
this hillside
sweet greens of spring
sleeping in the shade
path walks in autumn’s tang
the snows you loved—
one hundred and one in dog years,
they say.
We ponder your simplicity—
one suit of clothing
for all seasons
no pockets
no purse
no stash under the mattress.
You owned one bowl
one toothbrush
one collar and leash—
and us.
Judy Kolosso
Ceremony at Dawn
We are bundled to each other
under the plate of a frosty moon
hung against the flush of first light.
Elegizing, we remember days
our beloved dog ran circles
with the children who first chose her
as a fluffy puff of tongue and fur,
the children she met each day
with raised nose and whopping tail.
The air so brittle words break
into the tears of friendship’s end,
grateful for the honor of the task,
we dig, heaving with the sacred work
of letting go. As we bend to lift the old dog
cold from death’s grip, we release her
and our years of gratitude
like a prayer under the shared gaze
of a dawning sun and a silent holy moon.
Anne McCrady
Best Friends
I had a dog and he had me,
We were the best of company.
He was my shadow, loyal and true,
Where I went he followed, too.
I was the master—always there
Who gave him kind and loving care.
He was the friend I treasured so—
When I was down he seemed to know.
But he grew old before my time,
Lagging now in step and climb.
I slowed my pace to match his gait
But often had to stop and wait.
If he could, he’d follow still.
He broke my heart—as old dogs will.
I miss the eyes that shone to say
He’d love me till his dying day.
I oft forget and reach to touch
The old gray head I miss so much;
Wishing for the time again—
When he had me and I had him.
C. David Hay
Elliott and Amelia
When my parents’ beloved German shorthaired pointer, Elliott, died last year, all of us mourned. He had been my father’s best friend.
Amelia, my two-year-old, does not move through the stages of grief like the rest of us, so for her, Elliott is still alive. She looks for him when we visit. Last time, when she sat down to color in my parents’ den, she took a framed picture of Elliott they keep beside the new fish tank and stood it up next to the crayons. “Sit together,” she told me, pointing to the picture.
The attachment surprises me because we did not see Elliott very often (my parents live several states away), and Amelia’s young attention span is capricious. But she remembers everything about Elliott. She laughs about his kisses, and points to her hand where he liked to lick. She says “Elliott” every time she sees a squirrel, because he liked to chase them, and she always asks about him when she gets on the phone with my parents.
Instead of saying he’s “night-night” or in Heaven, like we once did, we allow his memory to live, and we laugh along with my little girl when we talk about the pooch. My favorite picture is one of them together—black and white patched Elliott and my bald little baby who had just learned to walk, sitting on the floor with their heads together.
“Friends,” she says, pointing to that photo.
Friends.
Cari Oleskewicz
A Dog’s Parting Prayer
Bless this child who made my eyes
Sparkle with delight
Every time she ran to me
To hug and kiss goodnight.
Bless this child who made my ears
Perk to hear the sound
Of her calling me to come and play,
Or her footsteps on the ground.
Bless this child who made my nose
Wiggle with pure glee
Every time I smelled her scent
As she sat close to me.
Bless this child who made my fur
Tingle at her touch,
Or when she softly whispered,
“I love you very much.”
Bless this child who made my life
A joy right to the end.
Now please find another dog
To be her special friend.
Laura E. Moore
If This Were Egypt
Below a wet April sky John dug your grave,
the lilac blossoms above it
just small thoughts kept to themselves.
We carried your body and laid you down
in that bowl of brown earth where you curled
clean and white, a wolf, sleeping.
To take on your journey we put biscuits and cheese
and slim crocus petals which the boy
who knew you his whole life
dropped in with shaking hands.
If this were Egypt, best good dog,
we wouldn’t stop there—
adding one pizza delivery guy in a red cap;
a UPS driver, the one with blond hair
springing from his head like corn straw;
the whistling meter reader you couldn’t quite reach
through the wooded teeth of fence; two smart-assed
kids on mountain bikes; one young plumber
with a tool belt; the doorbell with wiring
attached;
three squirrels, one grackle, a raccoon,
and, if possible, the neighbor’s slinking cat.
Lisa Zimmerman
The Last Time
I hold her across my lap
my face buried
in her curled black fur
breathing in
her familiar dog scent.
I finger her green woven collar
still warm with her.
I stroke her arthritic little body
stiffening in my arms.
The oil in my fingers
the oily residue of my tears
anoint her for the last time.
Donna Wahlert
Retriever
“Imagination is the great retriever. . . .”
—Charles Wright
If “Heaven is a lovely lake of beer,” as St. Bridget wrote,
then dog heaven must be this tub of kibble,
where you can push your muzzle all day long
without getting bloat or bellyache.
Where every toilet seat is raised, at the right level
for slurping, and fire hydrants and saplings tell you, “Here.
Relieve yourself on us.” And the sun and moon
fall at your feet, celestial Frisbees flinging themselves
in shining arcs for your soft mouth to retrieve. Rumi says
“Personality is a small dog trying to get the soul to play,”
but you are a big dog, with an even larger heart, and you
have redeemed our better selves. Forgive us for the times
we walked away, wanted to do taxes or wash dishes
instead of playing fetch or tugger. In the green field
of heaven, there are no collars, no leashes, no delivery trucks
with bad brakes, and all the dogs run free. Barking is allowed,
and every pocket holds a treat. Sit. Stay. Good dog.
Barbara Crooker
Dog Memorial
We have come here today to honor and give thanks for a very special dog, [dog’s name]. This creature of God holds a very special place in the hearts of the people gathered together here today. [Dog’s name] made his [her] transition [date] and we come here to mark his [her] passing with a remembering of the gift he [she] was and the gifts he [she] brought into the lives he [she] touched. You who have come here today to remember [dog’s name] are here because your life was no doubt made richer and fuller by having known this special furry loved one. Anyone who has had the honor of having a dog knows what it feels like to be trusted completely, forgiven immediately, and loved unconditionally.
I would like to invite any of you who would feel comfortable doing so to share with us for a few moments whatever memories you would like to share.
[Allow time for sharing.]
Thank you each for sharing your memories with us. God is love and God is life. We gathered here know that certainly [dog’s name] is an expression of God’s love and life. Though he [she] is not here physically any longer, his [her] essence, which is love, will always be with you.
Let us pray.
Blessed Mother/Father Creator of all,
We give grateful thanks for [dog’s name].
We give thanks that he [she] came wagging his [her] tail into the lives of his [her] friends and family and by so doing made their lives richer and fuller.
We hold his [her] memory lovingly in our hearts as we have released his [her] physical form.
We give thanks for the lessons he [she] taught so patiently and lovingly.
We are grateful for the time we were together in this life and know that the essence of [dog’s name] lives on, for his [her] essence is love.
As we grieve his [her] passing we celebrate his [her] life.
We give thanks that he [she] chose [owner’s name] to be his [her] people and in choosing them became an important member of their family.
Being the people chosen by [dog’s name] is a blessing that even now calls us to come up higher, to forgive more quickly, trust more easily, and love unconditionally.
Thank you, God, for your love so wonderfully expressed in the being of [dog’s name].
We release our loved one into the care of a loving God. Amen.
Reverend Gloria S. Moncrief
Dogs in Heaven
You think dogs will not be in heaven? I tell you they will be there long before any of us.
Robert Louis Stevenson
If there are no dogs in heaven, then when I die I want to go where they went.
Will Rogers
Poem for a Lost Dog
I see your face every day
Watching hopefully from your place on the telephone pole
Seeking, searching for a savior
To bring you back where you belong
You prance through my thoughts
On well-worn paws
White tail wagging, waving its surrender, its SOS
Calling come find me, O Good Samaritan
Months march on
Autumn’s gentle leaves turn to winter’s floating flakes
Your flier, your face, ever-fading, growing fainter
Until the wayward wanderer becomes a whisper
At night you still dance through my dreams
I wonder, where have you gone?
Did your redeemer rescue you?
Then I bow my head, and fervently pray
That somehow, some day you found your way
Home
Teri Wilson
Higher Power
You let the transformative power
of unconditional love enter
your life: you bought a Dog.
So thou shalt not ignore
the one who adores you!
Pet, pamper, play,
and laugh with your loyal fan, grateful
for the comfort and companionship
only they can provide.
After all, everyone knows
Dog is just another way
to spell God.
Arlene Gay Levine
My Daughter’s First Word
Dog.
Everything
was Dog.
The crib,
the cat,
the wall.
Even the dog
was Dog.
Dog this.
Dog that.
Dog!
Dog!
Dog!
Stuck out my tongue
just so I’d be called
Dog.
To be counted
as just one of the many
dogs
in my daughter’s
doggy-dog world.
Peter Markus
The Nature of His Knowing
He knows somehow
The exact moment I am coming to bed.
There is never a false alarm on his part.
Before I rise from the chair.
He leaves my side of the bed
And moves to the floor to round himself in place.
Some nights I call him back to bed
To lie beside me,
To touch fur,
To hear his soft animal breathing.
This night I enter in darkness
And make my way to his bed.
I kneel and give thanks to this body of motion,
This creature of hair and bone.
I stroke his ears and whisper a blessing
For the nature of his knowing,
For the gifts he freely gives.
Dan Vera
Blizzard
Summer mornings the Spitz
would ap
pear on the front porch—
me settled in with coffee, books,
notebook—and like a familiar prayer
both ask and receive: blessing
me, wanting petting, and then
lie—stunning white, against red
porch floor—quiet as a still life
but breathing steady, rhythmic.
God pouring from his heart and
lungs. “Good dog.”
Barbara Schmitz
Lessons from Dogs
Dogs have become a part of our family and a part of our personal history. They live in the house with us; they sit and sleep together with us. They have brought something unique and satisfying to our lives. They have loved us unconditionally and have taught us important lessons for better living—how to embrace life, how to enjoy the moment, how to let go when it’s time to let go, even when it seems way too soon. They have taught us that the only thing of permanence in life is love and that to spend life rejoicing in its opportunities and its mystery is better than to spend life adding to its misery and sorrow.
Bernie Siegel
Caring for a Sick Dog
Wrapped in my sleeping bag
by the side of your wicker basket,
I listen for your slightest whimper.
When you stir in your sleep,
I reach out to soothe you—
fingers through shaggy fur
touching your ribs
feeling your heartbeat.
Donna Wahlert
Lessons Learned Post 9/11
(Reverend Roberta Finkelstein reflects on lessons learned from her dog in the wake of the 9/11 terrorist attacks.)
Enthusiasm and engagement. That is the spirituality of the dog. . . . My dog Pepper loves me absolutely, he thinks I’m wonderful all the time, and he is absolutely enthusiastic about the world.
The word “enthusiasm” has an interesting root. It goes back to the Greek en theos—the indwelling of God. Enthusiasm is not mindless, it is a deep and abiding belief in the goodness of life. That’s the spirituality of the dog—engaged with the world, out there seeing and smelling and interacting. And constantly affirming its basic goodness. . . .
On September 12th, when I woke up the day after, exhausted from a mostly sleepless night and wondering how I could possibly prepare for the services I had promised that evening, it was Pepper who helped me get back my perspective.
For Pepper, the morning after September 11 was a morning like any other. He charged up from his bed, headed straight for the door, wriggled in anticipation while I hooked on his leash, then charged out the door and down the porch steps.
