Why Don't Animals Get To Go To Heaven?

Don’t send me learned comments about this post. I’m sure there are religions that admit animals to heaven, I seem to recall reading something about it.

I know all the documentary stories about the “Savage World of [pick your own species].” We have cannibal animals. Girl spiders kill the boys after sex, or some other bug animal does.

Maybe those not-so-good animals should get to go to limbo, that the Pope just redacted from Catholicism.

I’m talking about Patches.

When I was in my twenties, my parents got a little, what I called at the time, a rat dog. Patches was a girl. She stood about a foot tall and weighed, what? White background hair, with tan spots.

This may be too long of an aside; but, you’ve trusted me in the past. My parents had an old farmhouse. The front half of the first floor was the living room. As you looked to the back, directly ahead of you was a wall that concealed the stairway to the second floor. Just to the left was an archway that led to the dining room. When you got in there, there was a door to your right that led to the kitchen. Look to your right, and there was an arch to the foyer, which led you back to the living room.

This was Patches’ rectangle raceway. She for the most part hung out. Every now and then she would up and start doing time trials around the course. Always left to right as I have described the track. That little girl could run, ‘til she hit the linoleum in the kitchen.

“Scratch, scratch, bang!” I never saw her do it, but I could picture her left shoulder sliding into the cabinets under the counter on the backside of the kitchen.

“Scratch, scratch,” as she accelerated through the foyer into the living room.

She’d do this for eight or ten laps. “Scratch, scratch, bang,” every lap. I never said she was a really smart dog.

She’d then stop in the living room where we were sitting, panting and looking at us. No need for approval. If she could have talked, she’d have said, “can you believe how much fun that is?”

My Mom got sick one time when she was in her early or mid-fifties and had to go to the hospital. Serious, but not too bad. She was there for about a week. I had come up on a weekend, gone back home for the week, and went back the Saturday she came home. My Dad and I went to the hospital and drove her home.

Picture the exterior door into the foyer. I walked in first, carrying my Mom’s stuff. Mom was next with Dad kind of there to support her, if needed.

Patches saw me. Keep in mind she wasn’t a bloodhound, in case you’re wondering, she didn’t pick up the scent of Mom. Then she saw Mom.

Animals experience joy. She jumped. Straight up. Her head got maybe to my shoulders. She jumped and she jumped, facing Mom. This went on for a couple of minutes. I thought someone was going to have a heart attack. My Mom just had a few tears.

If I start a religion, Patches sits next to St. Peter at the Gates. Wouldn’t you want to go to Heaven if as you approached, you saw Patches leaping for joy when she saw you?