My parents recently lost their dog, Stewart, after he ran off and got hit by a car along the highway. I will spare you my rage and incredulity (big emotions call for fancy words) about the driver who so thoughtlessly drove on and prolonged the suffering of those who were looking for him for days. But I would be doing Stewart an injustice if I focused on the negative, so I'll move on.
Stewart never met a stranger and was loved instantly by those who met him. He was a good dog and a member of our family in every way that matters. I can still remember going with my parents to the Humane Society and waiting, and waiting, and waiting until the powers-at-be allowed us to meet him. He had issues to say the least. He was so shaggy that they couldn't really accurately identify his breed, he was covered with mats, he had a puncture wound on his hip, and as a result had to wear one of those satellite-dish looking cones until it healed. And it quickly became evident that he had been abused. He had a loud, piercing bark that could scare away would-be burglars and strangers, but he never used it, because he loved everybody. He loved squeak toys, treats, and naps in the sun. He hated thunderstorms and being left alone (who can blame him for that?).
For my family, and I assume that any other dog-lover would agree, we can take comfort in knowing that we will see him again someday, because we are ardent believers that all good dogs go to heaven. I'm not interested in engaging in any theological debate over whether that is true, and you can keep your opinions on that subject to yourself. I don't believe that the same God who put such time, energy, and effort into creating those wonderful creatures who so perfectly mirror our Savior's unconditional love for us would pass up the opportunity to enjoy that love in the afterlife. So, Stewart, enjoy your naps with the angels and do us a favor and look up a spunky schnauzer by the name of Harry. I think you two have a lot in common.
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