Dog Heaven

I thought I would post this. Dog Heaven has always been one of my favorite books, but Magnus' death on August 7 made me bring it even closer to my heart.

Dog Heaven

When dogs go to heaven, They don't need wings
Because God knows that dogs love running best.
He gives them fields. Fields and fields and fields.
When a dog first arrives in heaven, he just runs.

Dog heaven has clear, wide lakes
Filled with geese who honk and flap and tease.
The dogs love this.
They run beside the water and bark and bark
And God watches them from behind a tree and smiles.

There are children, of course, angel children.
God knows that dogs love children more than anything else in the world
So he fills Dog Heaven with plenty of them.
There are children on bikes and children on sleds.
There are children throwing red rubber balls and children pulling kites through the clouds.
The dogs are there, and the children love them dearly.

And, oh, the dog biscuits.
Biscuits and biscuits as far as the eye can see.
God has a sense of humor, so He makes His biscuits in funny shapes for His dogs.
There are kitty-cat biscuits and squirrel biscuits.
Ice-cream biscuits and ham-sandwich biscuits.
Every angel who passes by has a biscuit for a dog.

And, of course, all God's dogs sit when the angels say "sit."
Every dog becomes a good dog in Dog Heaven.

God turns clouds inside out to make fluffy beds for the dogs in Dog Heaven
And when they are tired from running and barking and eating ham-sandwich biscuits,
The dogs find a cloud bed for sleeping.
They turn around and around in the cloud until it feels just right
And then they curl up and they sleep.
God watches over each one of them
And there are no bad dreams.

Dogs in Dog Heaven have almost always belonged to somebody on Earth
And, of course, the dogs remember this.
Heaven is full of memories.
So sometimes an angel will walk a dog back to Earth for a little visit
And quietly, invisibly, the dog will sniff about his old backyard
Will investigate the cat next door
Will follow the child to school
Will sit on the front porch and wait for the mail.

When he is satisfied that all is well, the dog will return to Heaven with the angel.
It is where dogs belong, near God who made them.

The dogs in Dog Heaven who had no real homes on Earth are given one in Heaven.
The homes have yards and porches
And there are couches to lie on and tables to sit under while angels eat their dinners.
There are special bowls with the dogs' names on them.
And each dog is petted and reminded how good he is, all day long.

Dogs in Dog Heaven may stay as long as they like and this can mean forever.
They will be there when old friends show up.
They will be there at the door.
Angel dogs.

It's Been A Week---so Sad

It's been a week since Magnus died, and here I am, at work, looking at the clock constantly trying to remember what I was doing at this time last week. As I write this note, it's 11:28, and I remember that last week we were at the park with Magnus. He was doing poorly, but we wanted him to get some sun and fresh air one last time. We had a nice, relaxing time at the park. Stayed about an hour, then brought him back home to nap.

He died around 3:00, and I guess I'll be staring at the clock on my computer then, too. Or I'll be in the bathroom, crying, and trying to pull it together to make it through the rest of the day.

My emotions seem to have mood from crazy sobbing to sadness and a general feeling of sickness. I'm depressed and I feel sick from head to toe. I'm probably internalizing a lot of the stress of the past week, plus I know that I'm not sleeping or eating well.

We have some nice plans for the weekend coming up, but I must admit that I don't really care.

Your Last Day

You’d been sick for so long that I hardly remember the dog who used to run around the house and yard, who’d jump up onto the bed, and bark at animals and passersby. As I look at old pictures of you today, it’s the ones where you lie sleeping that remind me of you the most. Perhaps because that was how you looked for most of the last year---asleep on the couch, the bed, the corner of my bedroom, or curled up in the sun in the living room.



I don’t think that I’ll ever forget your last day---Friday, August 7. I woke up at 4:15, like every other week day. I made my breakfast of egg whites and turkey bacon, listening for you to wake up and join me. For a while, you joined me at this early hour. You’d wake with me, go outside, then stand with me in the kitchen, waiting for your share of the eggs, many times barking and yelping if I seemed to be finishing but not moving fast enough. In recent weeks, though, you often didn’t awake until I was finished cooking. And in recent days, you awoke to use the bathroom, but you didn’t join me for breakfast.



On Friday, you woke up as I finished cooking. I put you outside and sat down to eat, expecting you to scratch on the metal side door at any moment. I ate, and time passed, and you didn’t scratch. This wasn’t unusual. In recent days, I think you were too weak to stand on your hind legs and scratch. So, I finished my plate. I saved you some egg whites. And I went into the kitchen to let you in to eat.



You were in the corner of your RatZone, lying in an awkward position. I put down the plate and went outside to scoop you up. You were covered in urine and feces, so I took you into the bathroom and gave you a warm shower to clean you off. Once you were clean, I dried you with a warm towel, and set you down on a dry towel, next to the shower, to rest. I kissed you and petted your fur, and then I went to the gym, like most days.



When I come home, you were still lying on the bathroom floor. I was worried about you, so I spent some extra time talking to you and stroking your fur. I got a shower and got ready to go to work, all the time watching you. Before I left, I knelt down and stroked your fur some more. I told you that I loved you, and I went to work. That was 7:00 in the morning.



At 9:20, Daddy told me that you were struggling and that it was time. You’d managed to get up, only to stagger into the kitchen to collapse and lose your bowels. I was shocked. We’d talked about what we would do, but nothing prepares you for that exact moment. I volunteered to call the hospital. I picked up my phone, and I walked into one of the small conference rooms at the office. I called the vet, and I asked them about euthanasia. I tried to be distant, but my voice was cracking. I made the appointment for 2:20. That was 9:45.



At 10:00, I left the office. I grabbed a roll of toilet paper from the bathroom and brought it with me. I cried all the way. As I drove home, I had one last plan for you. I wanted you to be outside and lie in the warm sun one last time, so I planned to come home, get us all together, then head for the park.



We gathered you up in an old blanket, and the five of us headed to South Park. We tried to find a quiet place, a private place, where you could lie in the sun and the girls could play on a swing set. We settled on the playground we’d been to with the girls many times before. We weren’t the only ones there, but I didn’t mind. My thoughts were on you, in the sun.



We sat there for about an hour, watching the girls play, watching you lie there. It was sunny, and you were squinting. Then it became hot, and I didn’t want you to feel sick, so we left and drove for some lunch. You weren’t hungry. We came back home, and the girls left for the day. Daddy and I wanted them to say their goodbyes early on. They left around 12:45. Daddy got into the shower, and I settled down in the chair with you for one last nap together. I wanted to lie beside you. I wanted to relax and stroke your fur one last time. I wanted to smell the smell of your fur, the smell that I now realize was synonymous with home.



2:00 came far too quickly. It came so quickly that I wondered if I’d made a mistake in scheduling the appointment for the same day. I did it for you, and I realize that postponing would have been for me, but I couldn’t help but feel selfish.



Daddy carried you out to the car, and I held you in the car as we drove the short few minutes to the vet. It was cold inside, and I felt the weight of what was about to happen the minute we sat down. The receptionists seemed to look at us sadly, and the one older customer seemed to sense, maybe in our eyes, that we were arriving with a dog we wouldn’t be leaving with.



We walked into the room and Daddy held you for a while, talking to you, stroking your fur, and telling you how much he loved you. I talked to the nurse and the doctor about what was happening, and how we wanted you to be at peace. It was hard, and I struggled with every word. Then it was my turn to hold you. I held you in the green and white blanket. I talked to you. I kissed your head, your snout. I tried to think of good times.



The nurse came back to get you to insert the catheter, and I wondered if you’d be okay. You always hated the vet, were so afraid. I was hoping that this time, you’d be better, calmer. I was wrong. The nurse brought you back in a muzzle. A small part of me laughed, because you were a fighter right until the end, but the rest of me was sad and angry that you would die in a muzzle. The nurse laid you down on the table, and Daddy and I stood right by you. I stroked your head, and I told you that I loved you.



The doctor came back and it was time. She inserted the needle into the catheter, but you were uncomfortable or in pain, and you thrashed around. I felt horrible. I wished you were calm and at peace. Then, suddenly, you were. You fell silent and still, and you didn’t move again. I fell. I was crushed. I burst into tears. It felt like a piece of my heart had been ripped out of my body. I realize now that was the part of my heart that I’d given you over 14 years ago. The part that had always been yours to keep. The part that I would never have with me again. I don’t remember how long we stood there, crying, talking to you. I knew we had to leave, but I didn’t want to leave you.



We left through the back door, and each step reminded me of how I was walking away from a part of my life. You were a constant companion. You followed me to 5 apartments, 1 condo, and 1 house. You saw my wedding and the birth of my children. You saw me through 7+ jobs, unemployment, and every up and down and boring in-between. You were there through all of it, waiting for me, at home.



Now, when I walk through the door, home feels different. It feels empty. It smells empty. I glance around, half-expecting to see you sleeping atop the couch or next to the bed. I wake up and think that you need to be let out. But you’re not, and you don’t.



I miss you. I love you. And I’ll never forget what you meant to me. You were my dog---your skinny body, soft fur, and smell. I will always love you, Magnus.