All dogs go to heaven

My first night back home from college was the most exhausting one yet. After eight hours of driving up north, I got in just past midnight. I entered cautiously through the back door of the house, since I’m used to the instant sound of barking. I reached my hand around the corner to the line of hooks and next to it were my father’s keys to his truck. Next to that was my step-mother’s keys to her Subaru. And next to that, barely lit up from the moon peaking through the window, was my dog’s collar, cold and still.

My dog, Luna, was a 14-year-old black and white spotted Jack Russell terrier. Her favorite things to do were lick my arms and bolt down the stairs if I even thought about opening a pack of turkey. The day my dad introduced me to my step-mother I was about 10 years old. I didn’t just meet her, I met her dog as well. Luna joined our family and was welcomed with open arms, and she was there to watch it grow when we adopted a gray kitten, Ace, who was not much bigger than the space between her paws. Unlike the normal cat and dog stereotypes, they grew to be best friends, constantly wrestling down the stairs and snuggling up in the same bed at night.

Luna was there for the first newborn baby, and a second one a few years later. Over time, the babies grew up bigger as she got weaker, but she still protected them like her own. You couldn’t even play fight with the kids around her or she would transform into mama bear attack mode. That is a dog’s purpose after all: to be man’s lifelong protector and best friend. Even years later, carrying a frail body and minimal teeth, she stood highly on her purpose. Her entire life was dedicated to us and it breaks my heart we could only share a fraction of ours with her.

It was on my drive up coming home from college for the summer that I got the text that Luna had passed that morning. That she was in a better place, free from her pain. The last time I had been home and seen her was Christmas. Her beady black eyes were glowing, tongue hanging out, running around the yard and chasing our cat with so much life. I had never even thought to say goodbye. Despite the happiness she always showed me, my parents explained her health conditions had been going on the whole year. I knew this already, but it’s hard to believe something so hard about the fluffy face sitting in front of you. I preferred believing she was invincible.

The pain of losing a pet is not easy, it’s one I’ve been through before and one that every person who is given an animal companion at a young age will inevitably have to face; but that doesn’t make it any easier. Selfishly, I felt so much sadness that she did not hold on a little longer so I could see her again — just a few more hours. Luna was part of my childhood, my teenage years and a familiar face to always come home to in adulthood. She was a representation of our blended family that had intertwined from my parents marriage and even brought new life into the world. Without her, a piece of our family foundation, we were unwhole.

A few nights into my stay, I sat at the dining room table in silence, just waiting. Waiting for what felt like eternity. Everyone was asleep, so what was I waiting for? This was usually the point I would hear that quick pitter-patter of Luna’s nails on the hardwood floor making her way to the kitchen for some love. Like routine, I’d carry her to the couch and stroke her scruffy mohawk while she licked my leg continuously. She wouldn’t stop, to the point where I would literally have to get up and put on sweat pants just to be around her. It was her form of affection, and the reasoning behind the nickname “Licky-Lu.” Tonight, I wore shorts but my legs were untouched. I sat there and waited in silence for something that never came.

I am not a generally religious person, but when it comes to the grievances of loss, my mind does start to wonder about the unfathomable: Where do the ones that we love go? Death is too quick to ever give a proper goodbye. For the past year she suffered in pain but still held on. Now that she finally let go, I hope and pray she could only be in a better place now: painfree, carefree and loved. I guess by definition, that has to be heaven. If that is the case, maybe that makes me religious for believing she has gone there. 

Whether heaven is a physical place, a feeling or even a concept too complex for us to understand, I believe that belief is enough to bring sanctuary to the mind. Luna’s new-born freedom should not only be mourned, but accepted as her free spirit and energy will live on. She was an angel on Earth and I believe she will continue to be an angel as she watches over the family that she founded and made whole.

Makena Eggiman writes one final ode to her childhood dog, thanking her for her service.