Diablo stood up on the metal surgery table, shook his head vigorously, and let out a quick snort.
The humans he lived with were gone. So was the veterinarian in the white coat, as well as the young tech wearing pink scrubs.
There was no equipment in the exam room, either, although he could still see the utility sink and two gray chairs situated against the light blue walls.
Something there that wasn’t before, however, was a Golden Retriever. She stood in front of the closed door, looking straight at him as her fluffy tail swept from side to side.
In life, Diablo would’ve bared his teeth and barked – the fawn-colored fur on his back rising to make him look like a tiny Stegosaurus.
In death, though, there seemed no reason for the Chihuahua to go to all that trouble.
“Who are you?” Diablo asked, his head tilting to the left.
“I’m Orla,” said the retriever. “I figure you might have some questions and I’m here to answer them.”
Diablo sat down and yawned.
“Well, yes,” he said. “First off, what happened to my humans? The last thing I remember one of them was holding me and kissing me on the head – she had a runny nose – and the other was red-faced and wet-eyed. I’ve never seen ‘em like that before.”
Orla wandered over to the table and put her paws up on the side.
“That’s what they do,” she said. “Remember how sad you’d get when you’d see them leave the house? That’s how they felt when you left to come here, only worse.”
Diablo wasn’t sure where “here” was.
“So, when you die, you spend eternity in a vet’s office?” he said. “I gotta tell ya, Orla, that sucks.”
Orla – who had been smiling the whole time, smiled even wider.
“Oh, no, we’re leaving here soon,” she said. “You’re still transitioning right now. We’ll be on our way to a much better place before you know it.”
“Is it the Rainbow Bridge?” Diablo asked, excitedly. “I’ve always heard the Rainbow Bridge was the place where we go.”
“Well, sorta,” Orla said. “The ‘Rainbow Bridge’ is a poem written by Edna Clyne-Rekhy. After her dog Major died in 1959, she wanted to remember him so she wrote that. You’ll meet Major later on … he’s a very good dog. Anyway, where we’re going is just called ‘The Park’ – at least that’s what I’ve always called it.”
Diablo wagged his tail for the first time since he died.
“I’ll be straight with you, Orla … I wasn’t sure I’d make it,” he said. “The humans had a cat I used to mess with a lot – even attacked him a time or two while he was eating.
“Speaking of which … I bit the male human a few times, too. Not sure why. I was sorta playing, but he just seemed bitable for some reason. And don’t get me started on Bonzo, the Jack Russell that lives down the road. I hated that bastard … spent a whole summer trying to figure out how I could attack him in his sleep. I was afraid those thoughts and deeds might keep me out.”
Suddenly, Diablo found himself standing in deep green grass next to Orla. The exam room was gone, replaced by blue skies and open spaces.
“No dogs are ever kept out,” Orla declared.
“Surely Cujo was,” Diablo said.
“Well, that was just the name of a movie dog,” Orla explained. “He was played by several different St. Bernards, and all of them are in The Park. But even if Cujo had been real, he’d have still made it. No dog is truly bad, they just get corrupted by bad humans.”
As Diablo looked across the way, he could see canines of all shapes and sizes – as well as other animals, including cats.
“Kinda surprised cats and dogs all go to the same place,” Diablo said, eying a Norwegian Forest cat frolicking with a miniature dachshund.
“Well, not all of them,” Orla explained. “Some cats go to a place called ‘The Box,’ which is basically just that – a giant cardboard box. And a few of them go in together and buy condos and turn them into palaces. Not sure where they get money. Anyway, cats tend to make their own rules and that can sometimes make their afterlife a bit complicated. They’re gonna do what they’re gonna do.”
Diablo laid his ears back and ran some zoomies, buzzing a pair of tabbies who seemed more amused than bothered by his antics.
He then rolled over on his back, scratching it furiously against the ground, and popped back up on his feet.
“So,” he mused, “I get to do this forever?”
Orla nodded.
“Yep,” she said. “You can run, eat and sleep as much as you want to. This is your reward.”
Diablo sighed.
“That’s great and all,” he said. “But I miss the humans. They loved me and I loved them – even that guy I bit. And I wish I could tell them I’m not mad about that last trip to the vet … I was in a lot of pain, and it was time for me to go.
“Kinda bummed I’ll never see ‘em again.”
Orla’s brown eyes twinkled.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “You’ll see them again.”
Orla pointed to a spot under a willow tree where a German Shepherd was smothering its human with kisses.
“Yay!” Diablo shrieked. “So, people get to come to The Park, too?”
Orla gave Diablo a quick nuzzle to the side of the face.
“They do,” she said. “But only the good ones.”
