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Spiritual pet owners believe their dogs will go to heaven

By Matthew Brady / Knight Ridder Newspapers

In an alphabetical listing of pets, Rudy would be filed under "D" for "Demanding."

The 3-year-old German shepherd acts as if dogs have won the war and humans are his vassals.

His owner -- using the term loosely -- is Peter Tischler, 58, of Arlington, Texas. "He's rather egocentric," Tischler said. "I think we belong to him. He feels territorial about us."

Rudy is exactly the kind of pet Tischler has needed during his four-year battle with cancer.

He is not a lap dog, the kind that will let you while away the hours watching "Oprah" and "One Life to Live."

Rudy requires, nay demands, vigorous interaction.

The Tischlers' town home does not have a yard, so Rudy must be walked several times a day. Between walks, he wants to play ball. The interaction has helped alleviate the depression that Tischler says has been 95 percent of his struggle with cancer.

"It's those times when I become a bit too introspective that he will come drop the ball in my coffee," Tischler said.

Tischler was found to have myeloma, a cancer of the bone marrow, in 1994, one year after retiring from IBM as a software developer. The disease can be treated but not cured.

Two rounds of chemotherapy have kept it at bay, but Tischler said he knows it will kill him eventually.

His chief concern is the quality of life he will enjoy until his death.

That's why Tischler and his wife, Lucy, got Rudy.

Both members of Harmony Baptist Church, they believe that he has been a gift from God.

In their opinion, heaven's streets will include golden fire fire hydrants for dogs like Rudy.

"To me, there's got to be a place for them," Lucy Tischler said.

Her husband agreed.

"We may even find out he was an angel. Who knows?" he said. "He was certainly sent here to minister to me."

X X X

The keys on Gloria Cook's 1959 Smith-Corona stick, the letters overstrike and the carriage skips.

The typewriter has become useless to the retired Fort Worth, Texas woman, for whom writing is a pastime.

Over three years, Cook had saved $500 from her monthly Social Security checks to buy a new typewriter and a stand.

Her plans changed when her Chihuahua, Glory, died in October.

Instead, Cook spent the $500 to bury her companion of 12 years.

"If it had taken everything I had, it would have been more than worth it," she said.

Her beloved Chihuahua is interred in a casket beneath a granite marker at Faithful Friends Pet Cemetery.

Glory was her seventh dog. She remembers each of them, dating back to Pal, a mixed-breed dog she raised while growing up in Hannibal, Mo., during the 1930s. Prince, Prissie, Jerry, Lori and Tammy followed. Now that Glory is gone, Cook said, she is not sure she could handle the loss of another dog.

"I need one very much, but it hurts," she said. "Glory gave me love, unconditional love, and sweet companionship. She made gloomy days turn into better days. I saw love in her, and God is love."

Cook is working on a novel, her fourth. The main character is a Chihuahua separated from its owners during a car wreck.

"You can rest assured of one thing," she said. "It will end happy."

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A 95-pound Labrador retriever lies on the operating table.

Blood is everywhere, soaking the doctor, his assistant, the floor.

Conventional methods of stemming the flow have failed.

What do you do?

Veterinarian Jim Wilson did the first thing that came to mind.

He prayed.

The bleeding stopped. His patient began to build strength, and by the next day, 14-year-old Sparky walked out of the clinic with owners in tow.

Wilson described himself as a "little weird" among veterinarians. He is a Christian who believes that God wants to heal people and animals alike. He prays for both.

Answers such as the Sparky incident are rare, he said. Only one other event in his 33-year career came close.

But he continues to pray for his patients.

Sparky's owners, Lana and Elliot Clevenger of Arlington, Texas, are grateful.

Lana Clevenger has owned Sparky since high school. He was a stray puppy found at a dog track. Her husband retrieved their other dog, Freeway, from an interstate.

"Maybe it's a thank-you to me for taking care of all the other injured animals," she said.

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It may be the most enduring of childhood beliefs.

Long after the Tooth Fairy has stopped leaving money under our pillows and Santa Claus has become merely a man in the mall with a red velvet suit, we cling to the belief that all dogs (cats, hamsters and horses) go to heaven.

Granted, it does not rank among the great questions of life, but is it really true that our pets will join us at the pearly gates?

"It's always been a curious question," said the Rev. Mark Cannaday, rector at St. Alban's Episcopal Church in Arlington, Texas. Cannaday owns two cats, Tabby Two and Taylor Cat.

"I've asked it of myself, and I don't know that my answer has ever been definitive, but I do know that there is something of the divine in the creatures that have life," he said.

Evangelist Billy Graham is quoted on the subject in a new book, "In Remembrance of a Special Dog," published by Renaissance Books.

"I think God will have prepared everything for our perfect happiness" in heaven, Graham said. "If it takes my dog being there, I believe he'll be there."

That so many people believe their pets will join them in heaven indicates the importance of such relationships on earth.

Forrest Goodman, a veterinarian at Sanford Oaks Animal Clinic in Arlington, Texas, has seen for himself the bond between his clients and their pets.

"The bond takes awhile, in my opinion, to build, but once it builds, it's a transformation from simply being a pet to being another soul to share life with," Goodman said. "They don't place them on the same level as humans. I think it's more of a manifestation of the unconditional love God has for all of us that pets show to their owners."

David Bryant, president of Arlington Baptist College and a professor of theology, cited several instances in the Bible in which God used animals to make a point.

"It was a great fish that swallowed Jonah. It was a rooster that crowed and reminded Simon Peter of his promise to remain faithful; and of course, he was not. It was a donkey who spoke to Balaam," Bryant said.

However, he said he has no idea what happens to animals after their work on Earth is done. Apart from a reference to white horses in Revelation 19, "the Bible is silent," he said.

(c) 1998, Fort Worth Star-Telegram

Visit the Star-Telegram on the World Wide Web: www.startext.net; www.arlington.net; and www.netarrant.net.

Distributed by Knight Ridder/Tribune Information Services.

1>Saturday, March 14, 1998