A place in our heart

DALTON — By Mary Catherine Rogers

I hear the sound of much needed rain hitting my roof. The warm, clear water falls from the skies without prejudice. It is appropriate for my mood. This mood is familiar. The once joyful rain now makes me sad. It feels to me as if the world is weeping. I miss the sunshine on my face and the light it brings. Yet, I know the scorching heat is unbearable and even deadly to some . So, I reason the rain must come.

Today of all days, it rains. Today when my heart needed the warmth and light of the sun, it rains. As the water hits the dry ground, it’s lapped up by the living earth that welcomes it. But for the moment my heart has grown indifferent to its life giving bounty.

I am thinking back to the past few hours when death came once again knocking at our door. It was unwelcomed, yet timely. Some will not understand the pain of this loss. Afterall, they might say, “It was just a dog.” Those who have never shared that space of their heart, created by God for us to love and nurture a special pet, will never understand.

Bo had fur that shed, breath that made your hair curl and an appetite for things I dare not mention here. He loved rolling in the cool grass as he gathered small, unwelcomed, critters on his body during his frolic. In his younger years he howled at the moon, chased fireflies on our back acre and loved eating my cornbread. He was big and gawky, yet gentle and loving. If you scratched his back you made a friend for life.

He officially belonged to our oldest son who brought him home when he was a wee pup. He was a “prized” dog. He came from a long line of canine royalty. At least that’s what his papers revealed. A fine bloodline indeed. But, when Bo came to our home, he became just one of the family and absolutely, no royal treatment required. (except for yummy dog treats once in awhile) He loved his family, which consisted of my husband, our three children, me and Grandma Bonnie. Later that circle of lucky folks expanded to our granddaughter. Most folks shuddered when they saw him and without reason they assumed he was a force not to be reckoned with. They saw what they perceived to be the typically/ stereotyped “mean” dog. Their eyes saw a big, vicious Rottweiler. But only those who took time to look beyond the outside were blessed to know the real Bo, with his sweet demeanor and obedient way. He gave us a good laugh whenever, in his older years, he ran from stray cats instead of chasing them. In reality his bark was surely bigger than his bite. (Perhaps I shouldn’t give away his secrets).

His last days were spent in a cool, secluded spot, inside our home, and his last minutes in the arms of my son, who had loved him greatly from the moment he laid eyes upon him. It was hard to watch him go, to draw his last breath. It was hard to see my son lose “his best buddy” of almost 12 years.

But, I tell myself, “It is what it is. Dying is part of this life. Life goes on.” Cliche, cliche, cliche! I allow the tears to fall and then ask a loving God, “Might you have a place in heaven for your creation of our beloved pets?” It’s a controversial subject, I know. Yet the scripture that comes to mind is Isaiah 11. There it speaks of the future: “The wolf will live with the lamb, the leopard will lie down with the goat, the calf and the lion and the yearling together; and a little child will lead them. The cow will feed with the bear, their young will lie down together, and the lion will eat straw like the ox. The infant will play near the hole of the cobra, and the young child put his hand into the viper’s nest. They will neither harm nor destroy on all my holy mountain, for the earth will be full of the knowledge of the Lord as the waters cover the sea." It sure sounds like Paradise to me. I decided not to worry about it. I left the question in safe, capable, hands.

After awhile the rain subsides. The gloom is lifted. To my wonder and delight, I spy a beautifully, perfect rainbow in the sky.

Sleep now sweet Bo. Someday we will discover a greener field for playing fetch again, I’m sure.

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