Our old black (now mostly gray) pug laid between my brother and me on an old turquoise towel in the back seat of our red 1993 Ford Tracer. Something was out of the ordinary because Fudge never came on car rides with us. I just remember being confused when Daddy carried her out the front door in that piece of terry cloth from the rag pile. My hand stroked her shedding fur as I buckled myself in. After the nine block drive down Colwell to Champaign, we pulled into Grandma Joan’s driveway. The four of us got out of the car but our dog remained and Mom told me it was time for Fudge to go to “Doggie Heaven”. The tears were few because I didn’t recognize that moment was my final goodbye to the furry friend who had been around since the day I was born.
Fudge had welcomed me in every sense. She got to watch The Lion King a bazillion times as we sat together on the couch and cuddled in my beloved blankie, I even tried to share my binky once or twice. Fudge taught me that pugs equal curly tails, pink tongues, and smelly breath. She demonstrated their loyalty also. Who else would sit next to a three year old’s head after she falls asleep during a temper tantrum? I’m sure Fudge wished that dogs could plug their ears as I screamed and cried, but she nonetheless stayed by.
We were soon settled for an evening with Grandma. My knees bent on the bench under the window at the end of her long dining room table while my eyes peeked between the white lace curtains. As I watched our car continue on Colwell towards Cabrini Church I began to believe my parents were actually taking Fudge to “Doggie Heaven”. Turning back towards the table, I sat with my brother and grandma as we ate Kraft Mac and Cheese while watching Hey Arnold on Nickelodeon. However I barely tasted the “cheesiest of the cheesiest” nor did I notice what “football head” and Gerald were up to. Instead my mind was wrapped around that one statement as I envisioned our red Tracer pulling up to the golden gates of heaven. Was there a sign-in sheet? Did a nice angel secretary take Fudge beyond the golden gates or did mommy and daddy get to meet God themselves? Such thoughts lasted until Grandma offered a game of Go Fish and let us pick those ice cream Push-Up Pops from the freezer. More important four-year old matters had interrupted my moment of worldly wondering.
When our parents returned, we headed home and straight for bed. It was weird to be out past dark on a school night, but something else felt out of place. That something else didn’t set in until the next day when Fudge wasn’t sitting on the linoleum tile in the kitchen. I don’t remember talking to my parents about where they took Fudge for I was too timid to ask about “Doggie Heaven”. Our preschool class at St. Mary Magdalen had begun to learn about prayers to God. I understood you could give thanks, ask for help, and pray for family in Heaven. Fudge was the family included in many of my young prayers.
After an appropriate mourning period, my mom suggested a trip to the “Pug House”. As we left this Redford home in our tracer, a puppy sat securely in my lap. A pair of brown eyes of stared up at me as I stroked two little velvet triangle ears above a squished in face. Before the car ride was over, this puppy became my Lucy.
Of course Lucy was a family pet, but over the years she truly has become my dog. She shares many of Fudge’s qualities: the characteristic curly tail, pink tongue, and infamous “shtank breath”. Like Fudge sat by my side for The Lion King and temper tantrums, today Lucy sits reliably under the computer desk during Facebook and at my feet during clarinet practice sessions.
Though I don’t like to think about it, I know Lucy will join Fudge someday. As she grows more gray hairs and loses more teeth, this fact becomes more real. But I avoid it as she sits faithfully while I type this paper, barking periodically to make sure we don’t forget the present of her presence. Whenever I leave the house for an extended period of time, I warn my mom, “She better be here when I get back!” When her time comes, I now know we can’t drop Lucy off at those golden gates as my four-year old mind imagined (I’ve seen Marley and Me). Twelve years later, my prayers don’t focus on Fudge. Twelve years later, I do make sure to thank God for my precious pugs. Twelve years later I recognize the countless comforts and loads of love and loyalty that such companions bring to us. Twelve years later, I hold on to my basic belief that all dogs go to heaven.
the idea was really cute and moving. I agree with stargazer though; it would be better in non-fiction. Here are a few nitpicks;