Why God Could Easily Give Up On Us
By: Sarah D. Whitten
Tags: Senior Dogs, Heaven, Abandoned Dogs, Fospice, God

One magnificent human who rescued — and loved — an abandoned, senior dog.

I have a recurring fantasy that God finally throws in the towel on the human race. It goes like this:

A dog, let’s say her name is Killer, arrives in the Afterlife, having never experienced human love during her completely Hellish time on earth. Her name does not seem to suit her at all, she has clearly suffered neglect and she is anxious, deeply weary and has little bits of forest floor clinging to her matted fur. Killer is greeted with total compassion at the Heavenly Debriefing.

“Well! How was your life?” God asks, ever hopeful.

Killer answers with dogged honesty. “Thank goodness I’m outta there! Those humans are hopelessly unaware. They never saw me as a whole dog; a living, breathing, feeling creature. They chained me outside, alone, for most of my life, forgot to feed me some of the time or didn’t want to make the effort, and when I got old and sick they drove me into the woods and left me there to die.”

God’s beatific face falls. “No! Things haven’t gotten any better? Are you telling me there’s no sign that humans have become more enlightened about animals? At all?”

Killer is pitifully thin and has a bad cough, but as she talks to God, she is slowly being restored to good health and vitality. She begins to glow and to feel comfortable and optimistic, for the first time, ever.

“Hell, no,” Killer says, as God winces. “The humans I lived with got me from the shelter so I could guard their house and they never looked at me as a companion or a pet or anything except a lesser being they could use to protect themselves from what they perceive to be the evil world.”

God heaves a labored sigh and sits down, heavily, deeply disheartened. “Are all humans still treating animals this way?” But Killer, already feeling like a new dog, is running off into the sunny fields to chase a butterfly and meet some new dog friends. Over her shoulder she shouts, “I’m changing my name to Fluffy!”

“That’s fine!” God hollars back. “It suits you perfectly!” God then gathers any available Angels for a pow-wow. The Ark Angel, who watches over animals in pairs, chairs the meeting, which simply means he makes sure everyone has an actual chair, because sitting on clouds gets hard on the spine.

“I don’t need to tell you how discouraging this is,” sighs God. “I was so sure that by now, after all these eons and centuries and millenia, humans would have arrived at a place of deep understanding toward and respect for other sentient beings. Haven’t you Angels been seeing to that?”

All the Angels respond at the same time, which sounds sort of like a lot of harps banging together and falling over, and single harp strings here and there that have been stretched way, too tight, now snapping with a loud SPROING ! Bits and pieces of what the Angels are lamenting can be heard.

We’ve been trying!

— can’t keep ahead of it!

— too much ignorance and cruelty!

This is almost too much to bear, so God starts giving serious thought, not for the first time, to pulling the plug on the whole human race. “Look what they’ve done! They’re destroying the planet, other living beings, and each other! I had such high hopes! If only I could turn back time and start all over again from scratch!”

All the Angels answer simultaneously again, which sounds like an orchestra trying to tune up, but with all broken instruments.

— — told them to think long and hard before they domesticated wolves!

Not a bad idea in itself but —

— bred too many dogs and then abdicated responsibility!

— not remotely enough neutering —

— they actually dump dogs when they’re finished with them!

It’s not every human, but too many are completely unconscious —

“Wait!” God shouts, having latched on to the one positive comment discernable amidst the cacophony. “Who said that thing about, ‘it’s not every human?’ ”

The Dog Poop Angel floats forward. He is in exhaustively high demand because so many people leave their dog poop for Planet Earth— or someone else — to dispose of, because they think it’s biodegradable, (ha!), or it will just wash away, and they have no clue that it’s a significant source of pollution, or they know and don’t care. Their total irresponsibility has nearly driven the Dog Poop Angel to madness. He often appears on earth as an irritating human, stopping to thrust poop bags at people he sees with their dogs at the roadside just about to walk away and leave the poop, and confronting people in the woods as they are shoving their dog poop off the path with a stick instead of picking it up and disposing of it properly. But the people he confronts are almost always defensive and rude, and continue to leave their dog poop to pollute the planet and even their own neighborhoods and even beaches! So the Dog Poop Angel is suffering burn-out extraordinaire.

Fortunately, the poor, pooped Angel has also witnessed some highly responsible humans who not only pick up their own dogs’ poop, but other people’s dog poop, too! He tells God all this, and it is good, and God is pitifully glad.

Just as they are about to continue the meeting, KABOOM! Another dog arrives in the Afterlife. He’s senior and rickety with arthritis.

“Oh, Lordy,” says God, “here comes more bad news.”

“This meeting is adjourned until further notice,” announces the Ark Angel, gathering up the chairs in pairs.

The Heavenly Debriefing is very full, but for the moment, which is the same as all eternity, God only has eyes for this latest dog arrival, whose name is Ralph.

Still anticipating the worst, God asks, “How was your earthly life, Ralph?”

But now that they are face-to-face, God sees that Ralph has the unmistakable look of having been loved. It’s something in his big, brown, doggie eyes; a peace and deep satisfaction.

“Well, it could have been a total loss,” Ralph answers, “but those humans redeemed themselves in the nick of time.” He is already looking less rickety, and eyeing the dog park, hungrily.

“What do you mean?” God asks.

“Well, I lived with some humans for ninety-four dog years and then I got old and sick and they took me to the shelter and dropped me off to die, alone, afraid and sad.”

God’s eyes fill with tears. “What? Why? ”

Ralph is this close to running on ahead to the dog park where vegan hot dogs are being served without the rolls, because bread is not good for dogs, but he stays just long enough to answer. “I couldn’t get up the stairs any more and then I had a pee accident in the house and my hearing was going and my eyes weren’t all that good any more and my humans just didn’t want to deal with it.”

“Cheese ’n’ rice!” God shouts and then collapses onto a cloud, almost rendered speechless, which would be a first. At that moment, Ralph regains his full mobility and runs off toward the food at top speed. God looks around for the nearest Angel. “Could one of you Heavenly Hosts please finish explaining this to me?”

“Yes! Yes, I can,” says the Angel of Humans Often Rescuing Abandoned Dogs, hereinafter referred to as HOWRAD. “What Ralph was reporting was that just when he thought all was lost, a human stepped up and sprung him from the shelter where he was on death row and no one had even asked him what he wanted for his last meal. In the nick of time, Ralph was taken to a forever home and absolutely adored and revered throughout his last breath.

“Are you making this up so I’ll put a Hold on eradicating the human race in one exhalation?” God asks the Angel of HOWRAD.

“Nope,” says the Angel. “This is my area of expertise, and I’m telling you the dog’s honest truth.”

“So, not all humans are so blindingly oblivious to the suffering and needs of others?” At the mere hope, God’s eyes regain a tiny bit of their enormous light, although only about as much as a pin light compared to the sweeping lighthouse beacon of universe-encompassing illumination that usually emanates from his pupils.

Suddenly, Ralph is back, a vegan hotdog hanging out of his mouth. He gulps the food down, barfs it back up, and eats the barf.

“Gosh, I wish you hadn’t done that,” says God, stifling a major gag.

“I forgot to thank you,” Ralph pants at God and the Angel of HOWRAD. “In the eleventh hour you sent me a devoted human who rescued me from the shelter, took me home and gave me the best last chapter! I had all the comforts any dog could possibly wish for and I was completely loved!”

“I can’t take credit for that,” says God. “I get all sorts of credit all the time for things that have nothing to do with me.”

“Nor can I,” adds the Angel. “Humans who step up to save dogs — and other voiceless creatures — get the full credit for that. And they will totally get preferential treatment when they get here to Everlastingness.”

“Wait, what?” This is the first God has heard of preferential treatment in the Exquisite Next Dimension. “We’ll talk about that later!”

Ralph is not listening. “Gotta go!” He turns and heads at top speed for Fluffy, who has just learned how to play, which she never learned on earth. They romp together, pausing only briefly while Fluffy barfs up her vegan hotdog, and eats the barf.

“Gosh, I wish they wouldn’t do that,” says God, turning away to gaze at the Star of Bethlehem in the hopes of quickly quelling the vomit visual.

Meanwhile, in the Dog Park Hereafter, dogs are reveling in eternal love. Some are being reunited with their beloved humans, who had already shuffled off their mortal coils before their dogs did, and have been awaiting this joyful reunion.

God, now aware of the dog rescue redemption taking place on earth, decides to wait a little longer before completely giving up on humans.

And so it is that God sends out a lot of Angels to spread the word that many, many, many, more humans need to be kinder to animals. And they do. And it is good. Amen.