CROSSING THE RAINBOW BRIDGE

I plead guilty. I simply love dogs.

I have had five dogs during the course of my seven decades on this planet.

Princess, a black and white Cocker Spaniel, Buddy a white and auburn Shih Tzu, Lucy, a tan Corgi, Queenie, also a white and auburn Shih Tzu, and Toby, a black and white Pomeranian. The first of the five pooches departed this life over sixty years ago, and I can still get teary eyed thinking about her. The second and third on the list have also gone on to their reward. The fourth and fifth of the five are still with me; at least as I type these words.

For you see, my precious Queenie will be “crossing over the Rainbow Bridge” next week. She is, according to the vet, approaching 18 (or around 110 in human years), she is experiencing significant dementia, her eyesight is badly diminished, and she has no teeth.

It is difficult to see them go. There is a mindset connected to ushering them across the Rainbow Bridge which somehow feels like betrayal. While my little Buddy died in the course of a night, and without any assistance, the vast majority of canines must be euthanized when they become too old and decrepit to go on.

However, I am grateful that Queenie won’t have to struggle to see where she is going anymore, and will no longer bump into large objects which obstruct her pathway. The countless minutes staring at the walls and ceilings will have an end. And she will no longer bark at things she believes have invaded her personal space, but which are invisible to my eyes. And I can only wonder if she is in pain or possibly depressed with her fate in life.

I just gave my little Queenie her final bath. And as I was bathing her, I said something completely spontaneous which, I think, had great import.

“Let’s getcha clean for Jesus. You’re going on a great adventure. The same one I will take one day.”

And I think, yes, I think that if she had a voice, my beloved pooch would tell me,

“I’ve lived a good life. Now let me go on.”

(and)

“Thank you. Thank you for allowing me to complete my journey here, and begin my next one over there.”

Pt. 2

Melodi and I have supported one another over the years, during those moments when our precious pets were preparing to cross the Rainbow Bridge.

Today I messaged her that Queenie was due to make her final journey, and she responded with the following words.

“Oh my goodness Dr. Bill!!! My heart breaks for you and I will be praying for your strength and for Queenie to have peace as she is promoted to her heavenly home!! Imagine what awaits that precious girl? We will be right behind her! I can see her little nose up in the air as soon as you enter the gates. She will break away from her friends and run as fast as she can to greet you! Oh, the hope that we have with Jesus! I’m in tears typing this because I know Angelo will do the same for me! I’ll be praying that God encompasses your room on that day and that you have peace knowing it’s only ‘See you soon and not goodbye!’”

It is not only comforting to know that my precious pooch will no longer be overwhelmed with the physical and emotional infirmities she has endured the past several months, but that (I believe) she will, like me, have a home in heaven, not made by human hands.

There is a curious scripture in the Book of Psalms which reads,

“You (meaning God) PRESERVE both man and animal.”

A decade and a half ago when I adopted Lucy from the SPCA, and we were heading home in the car, I looked over at her, and said,

“How would you like to join me in heaven one day?”

And I kid you not, it was like she paused, and looked over at me from her place in the passenger seat with the most marvelous expression, as if to say,

“Well, my heavens, Murgatroyd, that’s a novel idea!”

Afterward

I am convinced of the reality of heaven, and I am equally convinced that I will see Princess and Buddy and Lucy and Queenie and Toby again one day. (And strangely and blessedly enough, I have experienced some mighty unusual things after Buddy’s passing, and in subsequent years, which leave me no room to think otherwise).

And so much like my friend Melodi’s recent encouragement, I wrote the following words on the back cover of my book about two of my beloved dogs:

“But perhaps our Savior will smile, and beckon with His hand, as if to say,

‘Well, Bill there they are. What are you waiting for? There’s fields and flowers and trees aplenty. Go for it. Romp and run and carry on. Love those wonderful little puppies of yours for all you’re worth.’

And with this I’ll turn and my favorite creatures will be looking up at me expectantly; eyes shining, ears twitching and tails wagging. With this, my heart will skip a few beats, and I’ll scoop them up into my arms, and they will rest contentedly against my shoulders. And best of all… we’ll remember one another, and the love we knew will be undimmed and stronger for the years we were apart.”

by William McDonald, PhD. Copyright pending