Heaven - Dogs really do!, Page 2

my heart of hearts that despite his problems, those last two years were the best of his life.

  His much too hard life.

  Ok, so back to the initial point of my story; I was in an accident, I wake up in what is probably heaven (giving myself the benefit of the doubt), and now I am rolling around in the most beautiful park-thingie ever with my long lost dog who died 5 years ago...oh, and like I mentioned before, the ground of this park-thingie seems to be made of some kind of writhing, wriggling something.

  Dogs.

  Turns out, that writhing, wriggling mass was...dogs.

  Lots of dogs.

  Lots and lots and lots of dogs.

  Dogs of every type and size and color...and all of them healthy, happy, totally care free...just being dogs. Jumping, rolling, nipping, playing...dogs as far as the eye could see.

  in that split second it came to me; all dogs really and truly do go to heaven.

  What a great moment...not that I had doubted it; but to actually see, literally, every dog that had ever lived and died, all in perfect health, just playing in perfect harmony in the most perfect dog park imaginable...that was when I knew that this really had to be heaven.

  And that was when it got weird.

  In the middle of playing with Cavan, amidst the fir and the slobber, I noticed that the background noise had changed. As you can imagine, the sound of every dog that ever lived all playing together is noticeable...but all of the sudden I realized that it was eerily quiet.

  Cavan kind of stepped back from our play and went back to sitting on her haunches, wagging her tail calmly, with a kind of smirky-smile on her face (if you own a dog, you know what I mean by that; if not, you probably think I am crazy; come to think of it, both A and B may be true).

  I stood up and kind of dusted myself off, looking around vaguely to see what was going on...and just about fell back down. There was County, bounding over the closest hill like a crazed puppy, with the strength and energy he had been missing since the attack. I was too shocked to duck, and so he hit me chest high with his big shaggy paws and I went back down like a sack of Purina.

  After more flying fur and sopping slobber (I was getting pretty drenched at this point) I staggered to my feet again, still trying to figure out more of what was going on, as the unnatural quietude of a million dogs was still quite noticeable.

  I focused my attention on the endless horizon of dogs...and it dawned on me that they were no longer rolling around, playing yipping, nipping, etc. They were all just sitting there on their haunches, like Cavan, quietly wagging their tales, like they were patiently just waiting for something.

  Of all the weird things I had seen up there, wherever it was, this was the weirdest. All these dogs, a carpet of them, as far as the eye could see...all just sitting there, patiently, wagging. Weird.

  I took a couple of steps toward the group nearest me, and in one perfectly coordinated movement, they all...bowed.

  I don’t know what else to call it; they just bowed.

  Laying down, both front paws extended, head bowed between them, ears down, tail quiet. They were bowing, like they had just finished some crazy act on America's Most Talented Pets or something. But they were not bowing for themselves...they were bowing to me.

  At first I didn’t get it, I thought this was some kind of play signal or they were begging for a treat or something. But as I kept wandering around the area closest to me, everywhere I turned, the dogs in that area would do this weird bow thing.

  What the heck was going on?

  I started racking my brain, trying to remember everything I had ever learned about dogs; my own experience, books I had read, other dogs and owners I had known, and I couldn’t think of anything even remotely like this.

  In desperation I made my way back to where Cavan and County were sitting, and as I approached I noticed they didn’t bow like the others around them. As I got closer, they sat taller, straighter, and somehow looked prouder, more important, until I was standing right next to them, looking out over the veritable ocean of dogs.

  The other dogs nearby, after recovering from their bows, came toward us, padding along quietly, until they got to me. As they walked by me, they nuzzled my hand, licked my wrist, ran their ears or heads under my fingers...somehow each one touched me, kind of like a human would shake my hand, or pat me on the back or put their hand on my shoulder.

  What?

  And then it hit me. They were saying thanks.

  Somehow, they knew what I had done for two of their own, when I had stood up for County and Cavan, and taken down a bad human to do it, at some risk to myself. Somehow, they knew that I had turned the tables on the man's-best-friend deal and been two dogs' best friend.

  And they all, each and every one of them wanted to say thank you and show their respect.

  This went on for a while as a few waves of dogs made their way up to me, always nuzzling, licking or somehow touching me to say thank you.

  I don’t know how long I stood there, drinking in the pure joy and love and devotion and gratitude of these magnificent animals, who were no longer beasts, but friends and kindred spirits, souls who were living in perfection, in harmony...in heaven.

  All too soon, I felt myself fading, my conscious thoughts becoming less distinct, and eventually I felt myself falling, either physically or in some other inexplicable way...

  And found myself back. Back in my body, back in bed, back in the hospital. And back also were the pain and the fear that I had been feeling before the whole tunnel-of-light thing.

  But it was different now.

  My body still hurt in a way I could not begin to describe, and I was still terrified that I wouldn’t make it. But slowly, while the pain persisted, the fear began to recede, fading away like tendrils of fog giving way to the warmth of a sunrise.

  As I opened my eyes and began to focus on the doctors and nurses and my own family...I couldn't help but look for a furry ear or sloppy tongue flitting around the edges of my vision. And while I didn’t see one, I knew that they were there, and that was enough for me.