You bet your puppy poop they do, and I have proof !
The only other saddest day, and week, in my life, that I can remember, is my Brother's death, and the day my Daughter left with her Mother.
But this past one, damn! I felt sick in my stomach, hot and sweaty, uncontrollable outbursts of crying, and unable to think straight and function as usual, and my appetite was lost. It wasn't as though I didn't realize what to expect, but I denied it. He just turned 13 years of age and I thought this 'fur-faced' friend, my best friend, will be different than the six I had before him, he's living longer.
He didn't look his age, hardly had any grey hair on him, as you can see. Back legs dragged a little once in awhile, waited a little longer before the stairs, barked less when he heard the doorbell or when the snail mail arrived, but he just reached the 'big 1-3' and little things like that can be expected. But then he started to cough, and I began to have my doubts. The Vet said it was his heart. "Bull-squeeze, screw yourself," I told him under my breath, as I thought of what another Vet told me about Butler, my friend before Bentley.
"Not my Bentley, he's going to be different, and prove everybody wrong, and live as long as a horse." I told myself. All the neighbors were amazed with him, and some seemed to be jealous that my dog reached 13 and theirs didn't. There was no end to my positive affirmations for him. I referred to him as a puppy. I started giving him massages and made him lie on his back for longer periods of time getting the weight off his feet and change his blood flow to ease his heart. He must have caught on to what I was doing because he started to roll more than usual. I made a video of Bentley rolling and rolling.
I checked out other dog owners on 'Lord Google' who had the same breed and had theirs for 14, 15, 16, and even one that said their dog lived 18 years. But the coughs increased. And then I heard him crying at the bottom of the steps. He couldn't get up stairs to me. When I got down to him he turned and went to the back door in a hurry. I followed him out where he coughed for the longest time, and then vomited. I then knew he was in danger, and this was his last day. His last hours. I can push it aside and deny it no longer. He has an appointment that I can't reschedule, nor do a damn thing about it. I can only except it.
But I wasn't alone in this fight, he was fighting it as well, and did till the end, and a little after. As to why I have proof that dogs have spirits.
He staggered so much I had to carry him up on the porch, but when I opened the door for him to go in the house he turned around and looked back outside, and then looked up at me. He didn't want to go in. He wanted to go for another walk. Or did he know he wouldn't be back out again? Did he know he wouldn't be walking with his buddy again? Wouldn't be rolling again. Wouldn't be sticking his nose in anymore Groundhog holes.
So I hugged him, whispered to him that I loved him and not to worry that we'll be back out again. Then I brushed him as I watched my tears fall and disappear in his coat, that has lost it's shine in the past five minutes. Even after I opened the door and asked him to come in, he was hesitant. "Would you like your dinner?" I enticed him. That brought him in.
He took the longest drink I've ever seen, as I made his dinner. I didn't put much food in, I had a feeling. Damn I was right. He didn't even get to his food. His fall interrupted his drinking. His legs could carry him no more, could run him no more, could walk him no more. Laying there he looked up at me as if he did something wrong, as if I was going to scold him now. Far from it, I joined him on the floor and held his head in my lap.
He was calm and quiet as I stroked him, as my tears started again and stringed down from my nose and vanished in his fur. As I started to sweat, I thought of how wonderful it would be to not take him to the Vet, for him to die here in his house he knew, with people he knew and loved-ones close and in my arms. I knew he hated it there, as much as I hated hospitals. It was a horror show the last six times I was there with my friends. They all looked at me like, "WTF are we doin here in this unmentionable crazy place"? I told him we weren't going anywhere, that we'll go to the creek later. "Bring it on, damn it," I said to myself.
I had hoped it would be quicker for him, and for me. The convulsions started and I then thought of how this part of death, at the Vet, was covered up by the injections, and made it smooth and easier. "Just like drugs, always making it smooth and easy, always making life what it isn't." Then I followed again with, "bring it on, damn it."
Suddenly he got up on two of his legs and looked all around, looked back at me, looked over at his bucket of water and tried to get the rest of himself up and over to it. I reached over and dipped my hand in it and then put my wet hand in his mouth. This seemed to help, but it was then I noticed how cold his mouth was. I felt his ears, they were cold to, as well as his feet. And his eyes looked right through me. He fell back down to my lap and moaned. He was trying to get away from 'It' and move somewhere else, but it wasn't working. 'It' was catching up. He moaned. It was the last I heard of him. His paws came up close to his face. He convulsed. I held them with one arm as my other was under his head. His breathing became erratic and it was like he was sucking for more air but it wasn't satisfying him.
When he relaxed again I let go of his paws and felt his heart. Still beating, but slower. Then it beat faster as he looked up at me again. Still he was fighting it. He didn't want to leave my side and the life he had here. It was all he knew, and he gave all of himself to his loved-ones, and he didn't want anything different and didn't want it to change. I think he wondered what I would do without him, and how I could manage. I think he realized that he, like the others, were the brothers I never had. So then I told him, with some hesitancy, "Hey honey, it's cool, you go on ahead. I'll be fine. I'll meet you at the creek."
There was a twinkle in his eye before his head fell back to my lap, like he understood and he was now on his way to the creek. Or as if he was experiencing the white light and the tunnel, people talk about when they have an 'out of body experience.' Then his heart slowed to only one beat for every five seconds. Then a beat to every ten seconds. Then a beat every twenty seconds. And then there was no more beat. And then Bentley was at peace, and I felt better knowing he was without the pain. And I felt better that he left me and went on ahead through the tunnel. I held my hand to his heart for at least another ten minutes to make sure he didn't turn around and leave the tunnel of light and try to come back to me. He was still calm, still on his way.
But then my Parents came by, and as soon as their voices filled the room, and their hands went to Bentley's chest to pet him farewell, they felt his heart, "I feel his heart beating faintly." My hand flew to his chest, and sure enough there was a little beat. Bentley's heart beat maybe four or five more times, and then his chest went silent again. I think he came back when he heard their voices and felt them touch him. He came back like people do after their OBE. The light fades and they start to feel things of the living and the voices they recall, and their spirit travels back to be with them. His spirit was interrupted, just like us people, and drawn back through the tunnel to be with his loved-ones again.
For me, this is my proof. My point: If my Bentley, and other dogs, didn't have a spirit then there would be nothing to travel on. Nothing to take them on, or bring them back. Just like what happens with people. And, if I may be so bold, this spirit of ours that carries us to the great beyond, will carry us again, and again, and again. This makes reincarnation quite obvious to me. And our beloved dogs are right beside us for eternity and with different lives, as to my belief and reasoning's why Dogs Have Spirits.