All Creatures, Great and Small

My parents made me go to Sunday School when I was a kid. I didn't really dig it (except for Mrs Mosher's Sunday School class. I loved it that year. Shout out to Mrs Mosher!), but I went.

Sunday School class was the first place I ever heard that animals don't have souls.

Coincidentally (or not) the day I heard that was the first day my religious belief system started to go a little sideways.

You see, I had a dog at the time. His name was, officially, Ebony. His name, unofficially, was Ebensneezer. He was a beautiful dog -- half black lab, half golden retriever. He was also, as is the case with every pet I've ever owned, a little special (which is to say, he was as dumb as a box of rocks).

He was the terror of Fisher Price people everywhere because he had the unfortunate habit of ... well, eating them. And their villages. And their houses. He never met a crayon he didn't want to snack on. He never met a patch of dirt that he didn't believe would be greatly improved by the addition of a hole.

None of those things were what made me know that animals have souls.

This was: my sister treated Ebony like a jungle gym. She climbed on him, she would lay on him, she would pick up his ears and flop them back down and tease him. All the while, he would look at her patiently, lovingly, his big brown eyes on her blue ones. He never snapped or barked or tried to shake her off, because somehow, he knew that she was just a little kid, one who belonged to and with him, and he would love her even though she was trying to use her craft scissors to trim his fur so she could make a wig for my grampa.

Animals don't have souls?

Whatever.  Animals have the most kind and pure souls, and I think that on some level, we all feel that. It's why we tear up during commercials for the ASPCA  -- because we see the animals looking at the camera steadily, unflinchingly, and we see that our capacity as humans to torment and harm what is pure and good is, unfortunately, immense and terrible.  I believe animals need to have souls because animals, especially domestic ones, have to put up with people, and we know how that can turn out.

I might be a crazy animal lover, it's true. This is also true -- my goofy cat has kept me sane during difficult times, and loves me unconditionally, even though she seems to understand that as the human, I'm going to screw up from time to time. No matter. Her soul and heart are expansive enough that she forgives me. She sits on my desk and watches me type with patient green eyes that say "I don't know why you're doing that when you could be patting me, but I get it. We'll play later" and she purrs, as though it makes her joyful just to be near me. Even if I'm working. Even if she thinks my priorities are woefully maladjusted.

What I'm trying to say then, is this: I believe that there's more than what we see and experience here, and that when we die, we go on... and since I believe that animals have souls, I think they do too. So when you lose an animal you love -- like my Ebensneezer -- you'll see him again, tail wagging happily, ready to chase any tennis balls you want to throw, grinning that unabashed doggy grin.

I find this incredibly comforting.