All dogs come home

Prologue:

A blonde, toothy television reporter stood in front of middle-class two-story home.  Next to him was a four-year-old golden retriever named Mike.  Behind them was a family with two parents, a boy in braces and a girl with glasses as thick as the Hubble telescope. A four had tears in their eyes. The camera turned on and the reporter began:

“I’m live here off of Santa Cruz Drive in Santa Rosa with the Bruster family and one amazing pooch named Mike. Three months ago, the Brusters moved from Portland, Oregon. And somehow, Mike got loose during their move and disappeared. As you can imagine, they were devastated.  However tragedy turned into a tearful homecoming yesterday as Mike showed up on their front porch.  The ID chip implanted in him — and his famous grin — confirmed it was indeed their beloved pooch. He’s a little thinner and a little dirtier, but Mike is home. No one quite knows the journey he’s had, but we can tell you this much, it’s obvious that he would do whatever it takes to get back to his people.  And we’ve learned one simple truth today:  All dogs come home.  Back to you in the studio…

Mississippi. The couple’s car pulled up to the vet’s office late on a Saturday night. Summer’s last hot breath was blowing, but they weren’t sweating because of the heat.  They knocked on the back door for the vet to let them in.

“How’s he doing, doc?” the man said as the vet greeted them.  The vet looked him in the eye with a grim look and just quietly shook her head.

“He’s in a lot of pain. I’ve always told you I’d be honest with you.  I’m being honest with you right now.  I know he’s a fighter — but it is time.”

The wife began to sob openly while the husband fought to remain calm in front of her. Tears ran quietly down his face. There are dogs and there are special dogs. But this little dog was a once-in-a-lifetime kind of dog.  He had been ill for a long time, but had fought so valiantly every step of the battle. But now he was tired.

The vet opened the cage and the little brown dog walked out slowly.  He was always one to greet you with the most amazing greeting.  But tonight he could barely do his trademark move — a twirl.  He spun around once slowly and fell to the ground, whimpering. The wife rushed over to hold him.  The little brown dog looked up at her with nothing but love in his heart.

They spent an hour saying their goodbyes, holding him and rubbing his ears.  Then the vet gave the little brown dog some anesthesia.  He, sensing this was the end, looked at the two people he loved as the medicine slowly put him to sleep. Their faces began to blur as his eyelids began to droop. A second shot ended it painlessly. The little brown dog began to dream the eternal dream.

There was darkness and then he woke. It was like he was waking from a deep nap in a sunbeam.  Up ahead was a giant doggie door.  He trotted, pain free for the first time in months, toward the door and pushed it open.  What he saw stunned him.

There was a wide-open field of green, wheat-like grass. It swayed rhythmically in the gentle cool breeze.  In the distance where purple mountains. The sky was a bright blue — but the stars seems closer and much larger. Planets and comets were visible, even though it seemed to be the middle of the day.  A crystal-clear lake was over to his left.  On its shore was a dock — a giant Chesapeake retriever leapt off the dock to retrieve stick. In fact there were thousands of dogs running and playing everywhere.  A  Beagle chased a rabbit.  A mutt played fetch.  A giant Great Dane chewed on a bone.  A Boston Bull Terrier came through the doggie door right behind him and ran into the field. And to his right, a Border Terrier chased a squirrel up a giant oak tree. Everything seemed so bright and so clean.   The little brown dog just stood and soaked it in with awe.  This had to be paradise.

“It’s a holding area, actually.”  A German Shepard named Rexi walked up to him. “Welcome.  I’m Rexi and I’m part of the welcoming committee.”

The little brown dog looked at Rexi and said, “I want to see my people. I miss my people.”

“We all do, my friend.  And you will see them. But this is where you’ll wait until they join you.”

“I want to see them now.”  The little brown dog wasn’t feeling the joy of all the other dogs.

“Not possible,” Rexi said in a lower voice. “But if you’ll have a little patience, you’ll learn to like it here.”

The little brown dog didn’t answer immediately. He turned around and looked at the doggie door.

“Don’t even think about that.  It’s never been done,” Rexi explained.  “Hey, I miss my people, too. But I know in time we’ll be together. Now c’mon, they have a great all-you-can eat treat bar.”

The little brown dog looked around at what was technically Heaven. But not being with his people felt more like Hell. He had to get home.

“OK, Rexi. Which way?”

Rexi turned and pointed, “Over there!”

And when he turned back around, the little brown dog was gone.

“WAIT!!!”

It was too late, the little brown dog was running back at the doggie door.  “COME BACK HERE!  EMERGENCY! EMERGENCY!” Rexi barked at the top of his lungs.

Sirens began to wait and the doggie door began to slam shut. But right before it could, the little brown dog leapt with all his might.  And as he cleared the threshold, his world went dark again.

Epilouge:

Eight weeks later, a car pulled up into the suburban Atlanta home’s driveway. The couple got out and met a man at the door.  “I’m glad you came all the way over here.”

“No problem,” the husband said,” We appreciate you driving down to meet us.”

“Glad to.  And I can visit my sister this way.”

The day after the little brown dog had died, the couple had gotten a phone call from the lady who had given him to them. “A litter of pups has been born in Michigan,” she said. “My friend owns the mother and father. The timing is just too eerie.”

The couple had thought about waiting, but the house was too dreadfully quiet without the little brown dog’s presence.  Sometimes you have to lance a wound to treat it, even wounds of the heart.

The man came back out with the puppy. “She looks like her mother, but all I can tell you is this: She has a unique personality.  It’s a great litter — one of the best I have ever seen. But she is special.”

He put the little dog in the grass and she ran over to the couple.  She stopped, looked her new humans in the eye and did her trademark move:

She spun around.

And it was at that moment that the couple knew — All dogs do indeed come home.

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20 Responses to All dogs come home

  1. Clucky says:

    Marshall, I have tears running down my face. Again.

    Is there a Mandolin (Mandy) where a Banjo used to be? I hope so; we fuss about our entourage (okay, ZOO) sometimes, but to lose any of them would be heartbreaking.

    Murphy, the neurotic rescued poodle, also does a twirl in greeting-and for a treat :) Puddles, the gentle Alpha pomapoo rescue, has the softest ears and never leaves my side. Dayzee Loo, the cockapoo/Shetland pony rescue, has big brown eyes that can see into your soul to go with the white she’s getting around her eyes and muzzle.

  2. Caleb Reeves says:

    What a great post. As I read it, all I can do is think about my two dogs, and how hard it will be to say goodbye to them someday. But until then we are going to love them as much as they love us.

    Thanks for posting this story.

  3. CJ Applewhite says:

    I can barely type this for the tears. That was a great story and I don’t know how on earth you wrote it. We have loved and lost them in the past and we have two we love now. Knowing some day we will go through loss again but can’t think about that. We just enjoy them and their unique ways while we can.

  4. Linda says:

    I am crying again! We love them so much. I think God made dogs not live so long so we can love so many more! I hope that precious picture means y’all have a new family member!

  5. Melissa says:

    I recently started following your blog and have been SO touched by your stories about Banjo. Having lost our family dog last year and seeing my parent’s grief continue makes me hope to find a little orange dog that will capture their hearts just like your little brown dog has. :)

  6. parrotmom says:

    Sweet tears of joy.

  7. Lois Bullock says:

    Wow Marshall…I’m sitting here at Corner Bakery in Madison crying my eyes out! Folks here (fortunately not that many) are looking at me thinking who knows what! I love your wit, wisdom & humor! You make me laugh out loud and bring me to tears. We just got a dog that had been found on the side of the road. Already he has the makings of a great dog…maybe not Banjo, but close enough for our family! Thanks for sharing all you do with your “other family!”

  8. blues4you says:

    Enough with the dog stories Marshall. I’m running out of tissue.

  9. Mrs. H says:

    Did you know that Rexi (my brother) and I once had a huge German shepherd?

  10. Fritzi says:

    Great story wonderfully told. I hope you and yours find a furry pal soon. All dogs need love. : )

  11. cardinallady says:

    New life does temper death

  12. Paula C. Mabry says:

    Thank you for this lovely story, Marshall. Do I see a dog story novel in your future? You have a wonderful style of writing.

  13. Danny Littrell says:

    Reminds me of my little Susie Q, a sweet poodle, we had for 16 years. She passed away in her sleep a week before Christmas 2011. She had gone blind and could not hear but she always knew where we were. I miss her so much she was and still is my buddy. I tell her good night every night a post a picture on Facebook. I know she is waiting on me at the Rainbow Bridge. She can hear and see again and is free of all pain. Wait on me baby girl I can’t wait to see you again. I have to stop now tears running everywhere. Miss you pumpkin head.

  14. A different Linda says:

    Terriers are like that. I have my own terrier story, times two. My first cairn grew up with my then-husband, and she died soon after we got married.

    I grieved greatly for her, and a little while later, we saw another cairn terrier that tugged at our hearts. We didn’t get him that day, but we came back for him. Though he started out a different color, he matured into the same color as our first, had a similar personality to our first, and was my best friend for almost 17 years.

    When he died, I was devastated. He’d been my constant companion through almost all of my adult life — divorce, health problems, cross-country moves, a new husband.

    It was almost 5 years before another cairn spoke to me in the same way, a girl who had been rescued as a puppy mill momma. Then I learned that she had been born a day or two after he died.

    Her time “behind bars” made her a little different from the first two, but that spirit was there. She was a descendant. When she was diagnosed with lymphoma six years later, we all fought it together, just like your Banjo and his diabetes.

    We lost her in February, and I’m still waiting for another cairn to speak to me, so to speak. We have a beagle and a Sheltie, too, but there’s a terrier-sized hole in our hearts and we’re hoping a little guy or gal will fill it soon.

  15. dhcoop says:

    Marshall, you have done it again. Amazing writing.

  16. photodawg61 says:

    Marshall,

    amazing story; Why can’t we as humans learn from our canine “children” and just love unconditionally and just see the good in everyone!

  17. Sarah Holcombe says:

    I’ve missed Banjo’s tweets. Thanks for sharing this beautiful, moving tribute to a way cool doggie. Long live Banjo! And welcome, lil Pip! You already have a legion of admirers.

  18. christine roberts says:

    @diamondbertie says “she was so touched by this story, thank you”

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