My wife and I buried Daisy today — at least Daisy’s ashes. We had her body cremated when she died. We buried her ashes on our friend’s farm. We’re going to plant some bulbs on that spot as well to remind us in the spring of her love for life and her love for the playtime she had at the farm.

As I was staring at her box of ashes this afternoon and missing her soft, furry face, I remembered a story that one of my friends told me about his dog when she died. For the sake of this story I’m going to call this friend “George”.

George had a dog named Harriet that he had raised from a pup. Harriet was a special dog. She was a mix of a Great Dane and something else — Labrador I think. She looked mostly like a Great Dane. She was a great big dog with a crooked tail and a big lovable personality.

When Harriet was around eight years old, she developed a cancerous mass in her chest. Only a month or so after the diagnosis, it was clear to George that it was time for her to go. Like with Daisy, he arranged to have her die at home. She was laying on her bed, out in the sunshine, with her head resting on the lap of George’s wife Karen. After Harriet had died, George said he felt relieved that it was over because he knew that she was no longer in pain and that he’d see her again in Heaven.

As the next couple of weeks slipped away, George began to miss Harriet more and more. Then one day a terrible thought occurred to him. What if dogs didn’t go to Heaven? What if he’d made a mistake and let her go too early and now he’d never see her again? This thought ate at him over the next week. He wasn’t sleeping well and his heart ached for his beloved dog.

One evening, a few days later, George was the last one at the office. He was packing up his stuff and making sure the doors were locked and the lights were off. He walked to the front of the office to check the reception desk. He was astonished to see that standing at the reception desk was his brother Phil. This was astonishing because Phil had died ten years earlier when he was struck by lightning. Standing next to Phil was Harriet.

Dumbstruck by what he was seeing, George just stood there and stared, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. Phil looked over at Harriet and she began to walk over to George. He reached out to touch her and the velvety smoothness of her fur once again filled his fingers and her unique dog smell once again wafted to his nostrils. He looked back up at his brother, trying to figure out what this was — what he was seeing. Phil didn’t say a word, but just looked at George as if to say, “Don’t worry George. I’m taking care of her until you get here.” At that moment, the question of whether dogs go to heaven drifted out of George’s mind and the vision of his dog and brother faded away.

When George told me this story I was speechless. He said, “I can’t explain it Pete. I can’t explain what I saw. The scientist in me says that what I saw couldn’t possibly have happened — but I know what I felt. What I can tell you is that I know in my heart that Harriet is in Heaven and that she’s being taken care of until I see her again. You have no idea how much peace that gives me.”

Me too George. Me too.

–Pete