CHAPTER V
A world-without-end
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Preoccupied with the thought of having Sarah put to sleep, I was hit
with a wave of tears. The visualization of Sarah no longer a part of my
life became more vivid. I began to pace the floor, wondering if I
should call our new parish priest. Perhaps he would ease my pain with
some wise, comforting words or sound advice on whether or not we had the
right to have Sarah euthanized. Then again, he might think I was crazy
to be upset over the death of a dog; that I was being childish, fretting
over having her put to sleep. Hopefully, he would be sensitive to my
grief over the anticipation of her death.
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With hesitation, I dialed the parish number. Through controlled sobs,
Father listened quietly as I explained Sarah's situation. To my relief,
he did not think I was being foolish, his response was "As Sarah's
friends, we needed to help end her suffering. Unlike our human
friends," he continued, "whom, because of their souls, we do not have
the right to help." Not sure I understood, I asked if he meant there
was no dog heaven. With a firm conviction, he said, "Dogs do not go to
heaven or anywhere. They have no souls." Having said this, he then
sympathetically offered to accompany George and me to the veterinarian's
clinic when the time was right for having Sarah put to sleep.
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I wanted to end our conversation right then. My Sarah has the most
gentle and loving spirit and I could not deal with the idea that it
would cease to exist when and if we decided to have her put to sleep. I
thanked Father for his time and support, hung up the phone and just sat
there. How could he know? Even if he didn't, just by his raising the
question of soulessness to me, he pushed me deeper into depression.
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