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If There Are No Animals in Heaven …
By Ursula B.G. Kilner, Salisbury
A country fair or celebration gives a lot people a lot of fun and relaxing pleasure in these days of worldwide tension and threat of yet another war. The Sheffield and Ashley Falls fairs, collectively called "Sheffield in Celebration," ran over two weekends. To city people the events, which drew big crowds, probably seemed single-minded if not simple-minded: live country music, home-cooked food, a big display of farm pictures, hayrides, and even a "guess the weight of the pumpkin" contest.
These enjoyments, entertainments, or whatever you wish to call them bring fun and delight without anyone sneering or downgrading anyone. Everyone has a good time seeing the activities (especially the pets dressed up for the Pet Parade), looking at the items for sale, and running into old friends. The weather helped by being fair both weekends, though a trifle warm for September. All this proved enjoyable and I took pictures of some of the pets in the Pet Parade and caught some friends off-guard with my little camera.
We left (yes, I had the peripatetic Barbara with me, as this was a kind of "ramble") somewhat after noon, since the animals at her and at my house had to be fed and walked. When I had left for the fair, Claudine, one of my tiny poodles, was panting, which I attributed to her stealing some of the eight cats' dinner. Claudine has long been a food thief and I figured this was another of her discomforts associated with stuffing herself with stolen food. She didn't, of course, want anything to eat when I got home, so I gave her sister, Colette, a brief walk with the intention of taking Claudine to Dr. Dave when I got back to the house about three minutes later. When I returned, Claudine had collapsed on a dog bed and was struggling for breath.
Galvanized into action, I scooped Claudine up and drove the mile and a half to the veterinarian hospital. I honked the horn as soon as I got to the drive and one of the girls came running out, plucked Claudine, by now very limp, out of the back of the station wagon and ran into the animal hospital with her. Within ten minutes or so another veterinary assistant came out to the lobby and asked if they should keep trying to revive Claudine. "Of course!" was my answer, as I am a never-give-up-until-utterly-defeated fighter. In another ten minutes one of the blue-clad veterinary assistants came out and said Claudine was gone. Her lungs had filled with fluid. Dr. Dave told me Claudine's stealing the cat food and gorging herself may have speeded her death but it wasn't the primary cause—she probably has had something coming along for a while, but it did not show in obvious symptoms.
Colette, Claudine's twin, has been sick with diabetes for several years and she was the one who got all the fussing and worrying, and as I write this she is snuggled against me wanting love and reassurance. Having just lost my golden retriever, Alison, to cancer a couple of weeks ago, I couldn't believe yet another of my dogs was gone.
The enjoyable fairs of the previous two Saturdays slid from my mind as loss and grief took over. Anyone who has ever had a beloved pet—be it dog, cat, gerbil, rabbit, hamster, chicken, horse, or whatever—would certainly understand: when that beloved dies a great emptiness takes over one's spirit. Yet I have lost many dogs and cats (and even a pet white rat years back) over the many years of pet companionship (one really never "owns" a pet), and I have always pulled myself together to give another pet (or more) love and a home.
As one of my animal-loving friends has often said, "If there are no animals in heaven, I don't want to go!" At the end of this sad day I can do nothing but nod in agreement.
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