Do Dogs Have Souls?

Let me tell you a little story.

When I was five years old, we had a black cocker spaniel named Priscilla. One summer day we went to the beach and when we returned, we found Prissy, dead in the shade under the twisted wisteria bush. She was an old dog and seemed to have died in her sleep.

My mom and dad cried. Prissy had been with them long before me. She was like a child to them, especially when they thought they could have no more children.

My mom got a soft quilt, and even though it was very hot outside, they wrapped Prissy's body in it. My dad began to dig a grave in the garden.

I watched my dad dig for a bit and then I went inside.
I found my mom rearranging quilts in the linen closet.
I asked her, "Ma, do dogs go to Heaven?"
She looked pained, like she did whenever she had to tell me something I would not like.

"Well, the church says dogs have no souls, so they can't go to heaven," she said. "So we have to enjoy them while we have them."

Well.

She was right, I didn't like that answer.

I went back outside.

My dad was shoveling a last spade of dirt onto the grave.
He wiped his face with a white handkerchief and stood back. He genuflected and said a Hail Mary for Prissy.

When he was finished, I said, "Daddy, Mom said dogs don't go to Heaven."

He walked over to a big pine tree in the yard, leaned his shovel against it and shook out a cigarette from the pack in his pocket.
He looked very tall to me, standing there in his khaki pants, his skin dark against his white t-shirt.

"Well," he said. "Don't we have everything we want in Heaven?"

I nodded.

"Ok, don't we want our dogs with us?"

Big nod.

"Well then."

I looked up at him and beyond him to the blue sky punctuated with a few puffy white clouds. I could imagine Prissy up there, looking down at us, wagging her little stub tail and drooling a bit, anticipating us joining her.

I was satisfied.

That was one of the best gifts my dad ever gave me.