Dog Heaven

He was groggy while consciousness was slowly restored. He was lying on his back, face peacefully illuminated by full sunlight as if by a spotlight of soft light. His palms were down with fingertips touching cool, soft sand. Something was licking his face. His palms, in this compromised state, automatically clutched and grasped a fistful of sand. There was more licking and he brought his hands to his face, sand dropping along the way. He rolled over to elude the sources of moisture. He got to his knees before he could safely open his eyes away from the licking. Dogs!

As far as his eyes could see there were dogs. These noble four-legged beasts dominated the landscape in such numbers that one could barely seethe landscape. To say they were numerous would be as poorly described as to say that there were very many grains of sand on the beach. What a beautiful way to wake up. He was on a beach, no other people, and a seemingly endless supply of dogs of varying shape, size and age. A couple dogs were leaning against him, putting weight against his counter force, tails wagging energetically vying for attention. Some dogs still licking, another presenting its butt to be scratched, one had a ball in its mouth, a pair of Rottweilers were playing with a Kong chew toy under a flurry of mock growls. He stood and looked around, turned in a circle. Nothing but dogs! Magnificent.

Knowing the effusive product of such beasts he looked down, watching his step. No poop! None, anywhere. Weird, especially when the horizon boasts of nothing but these wonderful, fur-covered poop factories. Curious.

From where he stood on the beach he could see a green pasture in the distance. More dogs, of course. There was a forested area in the other direction, dogs frolicking in the shade. In addition to a cool blue ocean with gently lapping waves there was a large pool, much larger than your typical Olympic-size. Swimming dogs divinely dappled the water’s surface. Dogs from all around were barking and playing. Many were now becoming aware of the arrival of this human and wanted to engage him. They charged under a chorus of barks.

The nearest dogs, growing rambunctious, knocked him down in eagerness for fun roughhousing. They piled on him then rolled off as he got back to his knees. He grabbed a few of them, hugged and wrestled them to the ground. They were so numerous, it was glorious. They all smelled fresh, like they’d recently been given a bath, all of them, with no residual wet dog scent! And none of them perfumed. He dug his fingers into the nearest dog and started to scratch. There were too many beasts all over him, he couldn’t even see which one he was handling. He dug his fingers deep into another dog and delivered a powerful, vigorous scratching. Then the same to a third dog. His fingers emerged clean and fresh, as if these dogs had never even lain in dirt or rolled in grass.

He struggled to his feet and started to run. It was awkward movement with so many canines afoot. They chased him and crowded around hampering his forward motion. He was running, and it was pain free. It was invigorating. ‘How long had it been since my knees had been pain free while running,’ he thought to himself. This made no sense but he didn’t want it to stop, so he ran faster and kept going.

A figure emerged well off in the distance, a football field’s length away, a human figure. A unique glowing aura emanated as if by backlight. He slowed his run upon approach and issued an instinctive, though reluctant, wave.

“Hello, I’m Saint Peter and I’m glad I found you. You’ve been sent to the wrong coordinates.”

“Wait, what? Wrong coordinates? There’s nothing wrong with this place. Did you say Saint Peter,” asked the man making a face of disbelief.

“You’ve had an accident,” he paused. “A car accident. It was bad,” said Saint Peter. This yielded only stunned silence while the man grappled with the unlikeliness of his current circumstances. He continued in a more somber tone. “You’ve lived a good life and heaven awaits.”

The man dropped to his knees. The dogs’ behavior calmed all around him knowing he was in distress. His recollection immediately preceding the beach was that he had been driving a car. A light sandy colored puppy with big feet, too big for her little body, got into his lap. She had two ovals of white fur on her back, one over each of her shoulder blades taking the appearance of wings.

“You’ve been sent to dog heaven. The error has been noted and I’ve been sent here to take you where you’re supposed to be.”

The realization had hit home, deeply. The weeping started in large heaving waves at the thought of the family he’d left behind. Saint Peter knelt and put a comforting hand on the man’s shoulder.

After some time the crying subsided. His mind was exhausted, empty. He sat inert, mechanically stroking the puppy in his lap. All other dogs had receded. He was staring out into the ocean as if with the uncomprehending, unblinking, dead eyes of a goat.

Saint Peter offered another prompt. “Take your puppy and come with me. Your people are waiting to see you. Some have waited a very long time.”

The man got to his feet, carrying his puppy, and followed.

[Inspired by a sign in a veterinarian’s office. If there are no dogs in heaven, when I die, I want to go where they go.]

[At Thanksgiving, I’m thankful for the people I have in this world and those waiting for me in the next.]