By Laurie Stiegelmeier
After Murphy died, a month short of his 15th birthday, I went on a search for the answer to the question, “Do animals go to heaven?” My sadness was multiplied at the idea that there was a finite end to him, and all that remained was his body underground. The abruptness was unbearable if he ceased to exist the instant his heart stopped beating.
For a week, I rebelled against that notion. I reasoned—and interceded—that because of his loyalty, devotion and protection, I would certainly see him skipping toward me and see his joyful smiling face when (or if) I reach the Pearly Gates. I thought of Sunshine and hoped I’d see her galloping toward me, too. Then I wondered about cats. And hamsters. And all beloved creatures. Certainly if they brought someone joy, they would be part of that person’s heaven, wouldn’t they? I remembered Ginger, my first dog, and my first horse, Penny, but I didn’t picture them in heaven as vividly. I wondered why.
I prayed that God would lead me to truth and teach me to love in right order: God, human persons and his creatures. I read the Catechism of the Catholic Church. Paragraph 2416 reads: “Animals are God’s creatures. He surrounds them with his providential care. By their mere existence they bless him and give him glory. Thus men owe them kindness. We should recall the gentleness with which saints like St. Francis of Assisi or St. Philip Neri treated animals.”
It was comforting to read that Murphy’s mere existence pleased God. I knew that God started his heart beating and felt he certainly must have been saddened when it stopped. I wandered further in these thoughts and pictured Murphy lying at God’s feet, Murphy following Jesus …Then I pictured lots of pets in heaven, all the pets people had ever loved.
My questioning had led me from Murphy’s existence being limited to the time between his first and last heartbeat, to my being able to sort of request him in heaven if I get there as if he was an inseparable part of my soul, to all pets returning to God when they died. That led me to wonder about wild animals—would they go to heaven? I thought of the wild coyotes in packs, the lone mountain lions, badgers and skunks. And snakes. Would they be in heaven or were they damned?
Logic told me that if God created all animals and pets were allowed in heaven, their wild relatives would be, too. Or did human love for an animal somehow make it worthy to live in paradise? Or was it the pet’s love for its owners? I pictured “Peaceable Kingdom” by Edward Hicks and remembered that the universe will be renewed at the end of time as we know it; the heavens and earth will be perfected according to God’s plan. Perhaps that is where animals fit into heaven, I surmised. Later, I wondered about the animals we eat, and the animals that Murphy ate. Will we meet them in heaven?
As I wrestled to know the truth about the place of animals in God’s plan, I thought about the ways Murphy demonstrated his deep affection for me: he never left my side, he ran to meet me when I returned to him, he protected and defended me, he watched over me when I slept, he showed me tenderness and gentleness, he was a constant in my life when everything else changed. His thoughts were always for me, his eyes were always on me, he sacrificed his body in countless ways to do all these things …
As sudden as a flash of lightning, I recognized the love of God that I had been experiencing through Murphy. I realized it wasn’t Murphy I was missing and longing for. It was that physical, tangible “presence” of God, that foreshadowing of what I hope to be immersed in forever in heaven.
Our human companions, especially a spouse, also show us the love of God in tangible ways—greater ways than a pet does. The difference it seems is that a pet doesn’t have other cares and friendships to attend to; a pet’s only concern is for its master. It’s the devotion of a dog that speaks to me of God’s attention and care for every part of my life. We know for certain that people are destined for heaven, for an amazing wedding feast with our Creator. In that fullness of God’s love, I will have no need of the reminders he has given me on earth.
Still I grappled with how something could come from God and not return to him. Perhaps pets are like God’s tears; they flow from him, are of him. God weeps for us because he sees how hard life can be at times, so he sends us a companion to bring us joy when we need it most. But a tear doesn’t remain a tear forever in our hand.
So, Murphy didn’t go to heaven—he came from heaven as a gift, a small token, of God’s love. I may not see him in heaven, but I will recognize his nature—and all of creation—as part of the beauty and goodness of God.
I asked Sumo if dogs go to heaven and presented my thoughts to him. When I told him I think he came from heaven to show me God’s love, he wagged his tail very hard and made affirming sounds. He looked me in the eyes and sighed like he was happy that I finally understood.
