Where do dogs go when they die

Warning: while no one has died recently, this email nonetheless deals with the subject. The white hair in Arthur's muzzle was quite visible in the last picture I sent out, and it set off a chain of thoughts for me recently. My own grey hair is more visible as well, so we can add that to the list of things he and I share, next to 'a certain rugged handsomeness' and 'affinity for tearing down wooded trails'. But there's a reason we have a term for "dog years". ------------------- "If there are no dogs in Heaven, then when I die, I want to go where they went." - Will Rogers

My roommate doesn't really understand the concept of the future. He understands that when I leave him during the day, that I'll be back in the evening. And he gets that things that happened in the past can recur. But a lot of that is conditioning. Mostly, he lives in the present. If he could understand time the way that I do, I would tell him on bad days that there will be a good days ahead, that vet appointments don't really last long, that he can't eat everything he wants because he'll get sick later, and that if he rolls in a dead fish, I have to give him a bath when we get home. Those things would make our lives easier, I think. But I'd also have to tell him that some day, hopefully a long time from now, but some day, he'll no longer be with me. We won't be able to go to the dog park, he won't get to play with Sophie, I won't be able to give him treats and we'll no longer lounge on the bed on Sunday morning. It is a cruelty that we outlive the animals with whom we share our lives. I remember during the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina that some people had to leave behind their pets when being rescued. I can't imagine being put in that position. I like to think I would make a different choice. That if Arthur and I had to be rescued, it would be both of us, or neither. If I could tell Arthur about that day in the future when we will no longer be together, I'd tell him that it means we have to make the time we have count. I'd tell him this, but it would be redundant. The wisdom of dogs, of living in the present, means they already do. There is no filter to their emotions. Arthur is excited every single time I come home, and heartbroken when I leave. We go to the same dog parks every day, and he loves it without restraint. I might wish I could tell Arthur about tomorrow, but I like to think that he is trying to tell me about today.

wes

#Dogs #Arthur #Philosophy