“If there are no dogs in Heaven, then when I die I want to go where they went.” —Will Rogers
Will Rogers either didn't think that through or he was a glutton for punishment.
Imagine going to Dog Heaven when your earthly time is up. I know, you have visions of frolicking with your beloved companion in fields of clover, basking in his unbounded affection for you, and having him faithfully and obediently at your side for all eternity, right?
That's the problem. You're imagining People Heaven, with pets included as meritorious guests.
Now that's a completely different place from Dog Heaven where dogs receive their eternal reward and we are mere gate-crashers. In Dog Heaven, we're the “plus one's” whose sole reason for being there is canine whim. As afterthoughts and appendages, our role will be to make Dog Heaven a bone-a-fide paradise for Rover—for eternity.
Enough theoretical palaver about the Afterlife According to Alpo; let's get down to the brass tacks of what actually happens there.
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Great green gobs of greasy grimy gopher guts: how many times have you yelled “Drop it, that's disgusting!”? In Doggy Heaven, the tastiest and stinkiest morsels of putrefying roadkill are omnipresent treats for your canine gourmand. Yes, it might make you want to puke but Rover will gobble them down incessantly and there's not a thing you can do about it. Which brings us to…
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Doggy snogging: oh, how Rover loves to share his germs and smelly breath swapping spit with you.
Yes, that impossibly long and agile tongue can dart out in a flash, completely catching you off-guard and giving you a gum massage. In Dog Heaven, Rover will be able to give you a thorough teeth cleaning whenever he likes, after having snacked on those revolting appetizers mentioned above. And you'll have to smile and tell him he's a good boy.
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Play with it again, Sam: you know how your dog never tires of fetch? Long after you've reached the point of wishing you'd never bought the damned ball, Rover wants to keep going and going and going. In Dog Heaven, you will throw that ball not for a few minutes or even half an hour—you'll keep doing it until he's finally had enough, even if takes a few centuries. And then after a few minutes of rest, he'll want to start again. Even worse, when he does get tired of fetching, he'll give you the look—and you will obey, tossing the item and then going to fetch it yourself, over and over again, forever.
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Floor it: maybe Rover will let you have some down time and relax a bit after all that hard work throwing and fetching. Just as you begin to ease yourself down into that comfy overstuffed armchair, he'll hop into it and settle himself like a maharajah on his diamond-encrusted throne. No “down, boy!” from you, nope—you'll obediently curl up on the throw rug in front of his Canine Majesty and hope you don't develop a crick in your neck from napping that way.
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Buckle up, it's going to be a bumpy ride: woohoo, Rover wants to go for a ride!
Yup, there are cars in Dog Heaven but they're not really for going anywhere. They're just there for doggy entertainment. On command, you'll slide behind the wheel so Rover can ride shotgun, head hanging out the window, lips flapping in the wind, spittle flying everywhere, and barking his fool head off at everything he sees. Hopefully you fitted your neck brace before leaving because the drive will alternate between fast cruising and instantaneous stops—in Dog Heaven, dogs can actually catch cars. They still don't have any idea what to do with them but nevertheless Rover's friends will yap and tear off in pursuit and bring the fearsome mechanical beast to a screeching halt. Good times for all (except you).
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The doggy Veg-o-matic slices and dices and makes julienne fries (of everything!): at least in Dog Heaven, you'll have the comfort of some of your favorite earthly possessions. Well, sort of. Just like back on Earth, they'll be the object of fascination for Rover—his ethereal doggy mind will finally get to solve the question of how long it will take to shred them into their molecular components. Clothes, furniture, keepsakes and more will be put to the indestructibility test and fail spectacularly. Best of all (for Rover) is that you will still have important deadlines that must be met and the papers and reports you need for them will always be at hand (or paw), ready to enjoy with gustatory mastication and the satisfaction of hearing you howl in futile protest.
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SEAL training is a dainty tea party in comparison: next, it's time for a walk.
Unlike on Earth, Rover gets to decide where you go and how fast to move. You can't let go of the leash, so good luck. You'll be dragged down the street if you stumble, so you better get some good running shoes to keep up with him—never mind, Rover chewed them to pieces for the fun of it, if you recall from above. Then there's those fascinating shortcuts through bushes, briar patches, mud puddles, and under low-hanging branches. Don't worry, your cuts, blisters, and bruises will heal magically before it's time to head out again for another episode of survival training in the outback.
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In or out or in and out and in and out: Rover loves to go outside because it means in a minute or two, he gets to come inside. Unlike on Earth, when Rover scratches the door, you won't be able to yell “Stop it already, you just came in (or just went out)!” No, you'll have to get up and open the door. Every damn two minutes. All day. All night. The worst part—Rover can stand in the doorway for hours or days if he wants to, pondering the impossible choice of whether or not to actually go outside.
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No-doze: Rover has finally had enough play for the day and it's time for a good long snooze.
It's off to bed you go—except you'll be outside the covers and confined to a small and inadequate space at the foot of the bed. Rover will be sprawled across the vast majority of it, hogging all of the blankets and pillows.
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The day dawns anew, pee-yoo!: when you finally drop off to blissful slumber, Rover will be ready to wake you up with those slobbery French kisses mentioned earlier. There's nothing quite like roadkill halitosis first thing in the morning to wake you right up for the day. It's a truly powerful stimulant, trust me—even if Rover only let you sleep for fifteen minutes, you'll be wide awake. Okay, that's actually pretty much how your mornings began on Earth as well so maybe you're already used to it.
And now you know why you want to avoid going to Dog Heaven when you die. Naturally, you'll miss those lovable rapscallions but think of all the joy you'll experience playing a harp and singing hymns while floating on a white cloud for trillions and trillions of centuries.
On second thought, maybe eternity with Rover wouldn't so be bad after all. At least you'll never be bored.