456. Even Dogs Go to Heaven

Today, Billy my doggy, died. He laid his head on a pillow under the bed and died; just like my father did years ago - only he laid his head on the settee watching "The time machine". In fact, when I asked him what he wanted for dinner, he asked what was on television. "Fantastic," he said, "I'll watch The Time Machine." Those were his last words because when I came back with the dinner, he was gone... just like Billy.

I know exactly at what time Billy went because he gave out a terrible stink from his backside, as if he wanted to free himself from what had now become a body massacred by old age. Which made me think this must also happen to human beings, that when we die we also expel all the nastiness our bodies have harboured during our lives.

Billy came to me on a cold January morning in early 2005, so I don’t know exactly how old he was ... I kept telling him, "Go home doggy, go home." But nothing doing. The next morning I found this little being frozen, with pitiful and pleading eyes. Okay, I said, you do not have a home, do you? So you’d better come in. And from that moment on we became sworn friends. He has defended me and the home all these years with untold faithfulness. We had our differences, but he loved me with an inseparable love... better than some humans, that goes without saying.

And now he's gone - thank you Billy, thank you for having existed and even if I miss you now, I'm sure we'll meet again - because surely, even dogs go to heaven, right?