Room for All

Animals are a lot of things to a lot of people, but to me they're one thing above all else: individuals. That's not an opinion everyone in the world shares. Researching my article Do Pets Go to Heaven? (February 2005), I found out just how old and how deep the argument runs between people who believe that each and every animal is a unique being with a spirit all its own, and those who believe that only human beings have souls. For such people, one dog or cat (or horse or canary or dolphin) is basically the same as another.

Very soon after that article came out, I discovered—via my mailbox here at GUIDEPOSTS—what side of that divide most of you readers come down on. I received hundreds of letters from fellow animal lovers who felt that while animals are different from human beings in important ways, each and every one of them is an irreplaceable, individual being—an unrepeatable and infinitely valuable piece of God's handiwork. Many people who wrote had lost pets and wanted to assure me that they knew—absolutely knew—their beloved animal companion was waiting for them. After all, why would a loving God exclude one of our greatest joys from heaven? My favorite letter came from a Texas rancher and "cowboy preacher" named George McVay, who felt so strongly about the spiritual stature of his fellow creatures that he created a pamphlet titled Animals in Heaven? Yes! that he distributed to Texas veterinary clinics and gave to friends who had recently lost a pet.

Not too long after my article, my wife Rebecca's and my toy poodle, Valentine, grew ill. Early on July 4, 2005, we had to rush him to an emergency veterinary clinic. The doctors there told us what we already knew: Valentine was in a great deal of pain and that the best—and kindest—thing to do would be to have him put to sleep. Rebecca and I each placed a hand on his small, suddenly terribly fragile body, and as Valentine took his last breath, I looked into his eyes and remembered all those letters that had come in from so many people in so many different places. My article had comforted them, and now their words were doing the same for me.

If July 2005 was a difficult month in our house, August was a difficult one for the country. Watching news reports about the devastation left behind by Hurricane Katrina, I kept hearing the name "Best Friends." It was virtually impossible to watch more than an hour of Katrina coverage without seeing a van or a boat with Best Friends personnel in it, pulling hungry, frightened animals to safety.

I did some research and soon discovered that Best Friends Animal Society was America's largest—and most unusual—animal sanctuary. "They do amazing work," one animal-loving friend told me. "They even take in animals with special needs from other shelters and rescue groups."