Do All Dogs Really Go To Heaven?

I was only 7 years old when this movie came out, but I remember Patti coming and checking Rachael and I out of school like 10 minutes early (which was the coolest thing in the world, by the way) to go see this movie. I also remember how awesome it was to think that when your dog dies, she can go to heaven. Since that is my ultimate goal, what kind of heaven would it be without my puppy dog, right? At least that was my reasoning as a 7 year old.

I haven't really thought about that much since then, but tonight as I said goodbye to an old friend, I wonder, do all dogs really go to heaven?

When I was in the 6th grade, almost the 7th grade, my mom agreed to dog-sit for some friends of hers. I was supposed to go to a party down the street at a friend's house, but I knew the dog was coming to our house that night, so I wasn't too interested. It happened to be a dog Rachael and I had met before, at mom's friends' house, and we instantly fell in love with her. Well, these friends decided to move, and their cute pup would have been homeless. But Woobie and I teamed up to give dad the big puppy dog eyes and convince him that she could stay with us. And so, a 5 day dog-sitting job turned into a 15 year job instead.

Woobie was a great dog. When she was a puppy, Rachael and I would take great pleasure in playing fetch with her in the kitchen--where Woobie would skid across the floor into the wall in her pursuit of the ball. She would lay on the top edge of everything--the couch to see out the window, the back seat of the car, the edge of the seat in the truck. Several times, Newton's laws got the better of her, and she'd come tumbling down off her perch when the breaks were hit. She even landed on Sarah one time when we were heading up to go camping.

She spent years sleeping on my bed with me, stealing the covers, at least until she started doing other things on my blankets and Patti gave me a hand-made quilt for Christmas. Then she would sleep under my bed. (Unless I was feeling generous . . . I just put a different blanket on top for Woobie to sleep on.) When she knew it was time to get up, I'd get the wet lick on my hand or the bumping of her head on my bed--whatever it would take to get me up.

During those difficult times in junior high and high school, when my friends were treating me like garbage, and I often found myself alone, Woobie was always there for me. I like to think that she was my oldest and most loyal friend. She never judged me, and she always seemed to sense when I needed a friend.

One year, I designated a stocking for Woobie, and it has been hung with all the rest of our stockings ever since. Sometimes I'd even fill it with doggie treats for her to enjoy while the rest of us ate our Christmas candy and snacks.

She used to sit by the front door and wait for me to come home. It reached a point when I was in college that she would actually recognize the sound of my car, and start to get excited when she heard me drive up. And apparently when I went on my mission, she sat by the front door for hours at a time, just hoping I'd come home soon.

She's been in the family for longer than most of my nieces and nephews, and perhaps that is why I feel like a piece of my heart was ripped out today . . . so long, old friend. I'll miss you, and hope that all dogs really do go to heaven.