By Joe Hobby, Tribune Columnist
“Heaven goes by favor. If it went by merit, you would stay out and your dog would go in.”
Mark Twain
Joe Hobby, Tribune Columnist
I read where author Rick Bragg’s just lost his dog Speck. If you’ve read his best selling book, The Speckled Beauty, I think you will understand his feeling of loss. I sure do. In fact, once I read the article, I put down my phone and cried. It’s because I know how he badly he hurts – I’ve hurt the same way. It should come as no surprise that I’m an unashamed dog person. I prefer canines to most people. I can spend a half day watching dog videos. One of the first things I plan to ask Jesus is why He gave dogs such a short life span.
It seems like everybody has one dog in their life that is different from all the others. Rick’s was a stray named Speck and mine was a rescue named Precious. The events of my life and her reaction to them bonded us together tightly. Our emotional connection transcended dog and man. Let me explain.
I can still vividly recall sitting down on the couch and weeping bitterly. The sum total of all the events from the previous 15 years finally came to a head a few hours before in a federal courtroom. That’s where I watched in horror as my son stood before a judge facing robbery charges, a by-product of his drug addiction. The shock of him dressed in an orange jumpsuit, bound by handcuffs and leg irons, was more than I could bear. Still, I held myself together until I got back home and sat on the sofa. Then it all came spewing out. I was a sobbing, inconsolable mess. However, it didn’t stop someone from trying to console me. Within a few minutes, I felt something on my leg. I looked down and saw Precious. She had jumped on the couch, quietly curled up beside me, and put her head in my lap. A rare source of light during my darkest night. I was in pain, and she wanted to help. It was the perfect show of love that I desperately needed at that moment.
During the time before his trial, my son stayed at our house. Despite all of his bad decisions, he was a dog lover, and as a result, Precious became a calming influence for everyone during this stressful time. Finally the authorities came for him, and in an act of decency, they allowed him a moment to say goodbye to her. A wave of sadness washed over me because Presh was eight years old, and I knew it would almost certainly be the last time he would ever see her.
Families with an addict face a difficult path. A by-product of drug use is stealing, lying, manipulation, anger, and unforgiveness. For the addict, jail time, or even death, becomes a real possibility. All of this trauma causes severe emotional damage to everyone in the family, and we were no exception.
Precious was our four-legged therapist. She was very intuitive – and always offered us unconditional love, which is usually in short supply in the family of an addict.
After my son was gone, Precious stayed even closer, constantly following me from room to room in the house. It was if she was keeping tabs on me. She was.
I would’ve never believed that a dog would become so important to us. She was a rescue of sorts. One evening I came home from work and found her on our deck. My middle son took the pup away from a college girl at the University of Alabama who was barely feeding her. She had named the dog Precious – ironic for a person who was practicing animal abuse. I agreed to keep the pup until we could find a good home. Famous last words. We had her for almost 15 years – Presh brought joy to our household at a time when we needed it the most.
About 4 months before my son was released, we lost her. It’s been years now, and I still have a hole in my heart. Precious was cremated and I have made it clear that her ashes will go with me when I depart this world. I believe that God put that dog in our life for a purpose, and once she finished her task, He called her home. Yes, I’m in the category of people who believe our pets go to heaven. Billy Graham and CS Lewis went on record saying we will see them again, and that’s good enough for me.
Any time I read where someone on social media has lost a pet, I always respond by saying, “My heart hurts with you.” That’s not just a standard reply – it’s the absolute truth.
So, Rick, believe me when I say that my heart hurts with you. It will get better with time, but I doubt you’ll ever really get over it. I haven’t.
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