I saw the real Rainbow Bridge

I think of this as the Rainbow Bridge

I’ve seen the legendary “Rainbow Bridge,” where dogs are said to wait after death for their owners to join them. I was missing Winston a lot recently, so I tried to imagine him at the Rainbow Bridge. This time I could imagine it really clearly!

At first I was surprised at my power of imagination. Then I figured out that I was remembering an actual place. It’s a bridge leading to a beautiful dog park next to a river. I call it the River Park. Many people let their dogs run free there in the late afternoon. I go there every other day with my new dog, and he loves romping with the other dogs there.

The main entrance to the River Park is a bridge from the parking lot into the grassy park. I took Winston there a few times in his lifetime, and I’ve walked over that bridge countless times with my new dog, but I never connected it with the Rainbow Bridge until now.

I often think of the River Park as my vision of what heaven is like: dogs playing happily in nature as the river flows by. I always feel calm and happy there. It’s empty in the afternoon. At dusk the right people and dogs show up as if by magic. Sometimes a Great Blue Heron flies over and perches in a tree or walks elegantly on the grass. After sunset everyone goes their separate ways… until we meet again.

Recently I even saw an actual rainbow near the bridge, but I still didn’t think of it as the Rainbow Bridge where Winston’s spirit awaited me. Then it hit me.

I decided to tell Dillon. “I realized something. Remember the Rainbow Bridge?”

Bang! Suddenly, right when I said the words “Rainbow Bridge,” the power went out! Wow, what a statement from the spirit world!

Within a few minutes, the power blinked back on. No harm done, just confirmation of a powerful truth from the energy fields around us.

That afternoon when I look my new dog to the River Park, I thought of Winston as we crossed the Rainbow Bridge. And I found a lucky four-leaf clover in the grass there.

I took some photos of this special, healing place to share with people who visit this blog.

Click here for more info on the Rainbow Bridge.

Dog at the end of the Rainbow Bridge

Winston, I still miss you

I’ll always remember Winston like this

I couldn’t help thinking of my dear departed Great Dane mix Winston last week when I was lying next to my new Dane puppy in the hallway. Winston used to lie in that same spot. I really missed my old Winston. I wished I had spent more time just lying next to him and snuggling after he became paralyzed and incontinent, instead of wasting precious time and money on a fruitless search for a cure. I know so many things now that I didn’t know before my dog died.

These are things that I learned because Winston died: That every breath is precious. That for me, having a dog makes life worth living. That taking care of Winston in his last weeks was not preventing me from living my life -- it WAS my life, and after my dog was gone, there was nothing else that I wanted to do except get another dog. That there are support groups online and at the Humane Society to provide emotional support for people whose dogs are dying. That I am stronger than I knew.

I learned these things because my dog Winston died. I would have handled it differently if I knew then what I know now, but his death was the only way I could have learned these hard truths. They are Winston’s gift to me, and I believe that teaching me these truths was part of his life purpose.

I’ve also learned that his death would have been just as hard even if I had handled it differently. Everyone at the pet loss support group wishes they had made different choices, but those who did choose differently have just as many regrets. I know that Winston was ready to go, and that his spirit rejoiced when it was set free to soar to the stars.

As I was thinking all this, the wind blew through the trees -- a sound that used to terrify Winston until the day before he died, when he listened to the wind without fear for the first time. He seemed to sense that he could become the wind. Some music started playing from next door, and the lyrics seemed to echo from Winston to me, and back again. “I miss you, I love you…”

That day my new puppy and I bonded. After 2 months of seemingly endless bite-fights, we could finally lie down on the floor together and rest. I love my new puppy, and the personality differences between him and Winston help me appreciate Winston in new ways, too.

The new pup is a purebred who was raised like royalty. He had never set foot outside until he joined our family at 8 weeks old. He is comfortable in crates and on leashes. He retreats to another room to sleep when he is tired. He likes dogs better than most people, and assumes that humans will love him. He has never known want or neglect. He takes everything for granted -- sometimes to the point of seeming like a spoiled brat -- but on the other hand, he has no insecurities about his future. Of course, he is still a puppy, so he will grow in wisdom.

In contrast, Winston came to us as a one-year-old street dog who had been abandoned by previous owners. He loved people and tried to win over every person he met, almost always with great success. He always showed gratitude for his life with us. The flip side was that he never trusted completely that this was his forever home. He couldn’t bear to be alone, even if we were just in another room. He had phobias, including major fear of confinement. I still have emotional scars from seeing the terror and misery and sense of betrayal on his face the first time we put him in a kennel. His fears eased during his years with us, but his gratitude and eagerness to please remained.

There’s been an almost complete turnover in the dog population of our neighborhood. Almost all the dogs who filled Winston’s life with fun and adventure are dead and gone. Only three of his original buddies remain, and all of them are stiff, grouchy and grizzled with old age.

Winston’s best friend was a female Pit Bull who lived across the street. Now Winston and his Pit Bull buddy are both in Dog Heaven, but our new puppy just found a new dog friend living down the street -- a female Pit Bull, the same as Winston’s best friend. My spirits soared as I saw the two dogs chasing and wrestling each other, just like Winston used to do with his old best friend. I felt that their spirits rejoiced and raced with the two new friends, another Dane boy and Pit Bull girl. Life goes on.

Here is my letter to Winston today:

Winston, I will always love you. Thank you for coming into my life and teaching me so much. No other dog will ever be quite like you.

I wish you could meet our new puppy. I know that you would love him -- and teach him a few lessons in dog etiquette, too!

I will love other dogs in other ways, but no other dog can ever take your place in my heart. I will never forget the way you looked at me, grateful and eager to please -- until the very end.

A friend told me that dogs don’t live as long as humans because, if it were the other way around, dogs couldn’t bear the grief and loneliness. I know that in your case, that’s true. You and I are always together in spirit.

You have gone down a trail where I cannot yet follow, but someday our journey will come full circle. We are still connected, and our paths will cross again.

Dog Heaven

Dillon and I picked up Winston’s ashes last week. It was a sad occasion, but not without its bright spots.

A dog was in the vet's waiting room at the desk where we got the ashes: a Dalmatian puppy, a spotted dog like Winston.

One of the receptionists handed me the box of ashes. It looked an awful lot like a plain ordinary cardboard box. It just didn’t seem like my Winston at all. “Are you sure it’s him?” I asked.

She assured me that it was and pointed out a small label with his name -- and mine.

When we got home, Dillon carried the box in the door. “Winston’s back home,” she announced with a touch of happiness.

Surprisingly, it DID feel a bit like Winston was back. We opened the box and were amazed to find a beautiful brown suede box, wonderfully loved to the touch. The material looked and felt just like my late father’s favorite brown suede jacket. Inside the suede box was a canister with a label: “In loving memory: Winston.”

The box of ashes was 6 or 7 inches square and heavy, weighing four to five pounds. After we admired the box and reminisced for a while, Dillon got ready to leave. As she was going out the door, I noticed a box that arrived that day from Amazon. I thought it contained a laundry bag that I ordered, so I asked Dillon to open it before she left.

To our complete amazement, it was a book called Dog Heaven! This unexpected gift was sent by our vet, Dr. Beasley. Her note said, “In memory of Winston, a great dog whose life was filled with love.” The timing so perfect it could not have been humanly planned.

Dillon and I sat down immediately and read the book. It’s a children’s book with colorful illustrations for preschoolers, but it’s suitable for adults coping with the loss of a dog, too. We easily read it in one sitting. The text and illustrations by Cynthia Rylant describe how dogs in heaven enjoy running free, eating endless dog biscuits, sleeping on clouds and occasional return visits with angels. Sometimes we had to stop to weep.

I've been reading the book to myself at bedtime, when I tend to miss Winston a lot. It helps me fall asleep with sweet thoughts of my Winston in Dog Heaven.