Looking For Kelly

The day before my dad drove away from our house, never to return, he bought us a dog who we named Kelly. It was an excellent trade. 

Hillpoint Shamrock Kelly was the Irish Setter of my childhood and oh, what a glorious life he led. In those days - the 70s - and in that place - the lake country of southeast Michigan - dogs ran wild and free. Sure, he had his hands full, keeping up with the four of us kids as we swam and sledded, mini-biked and mucked about on our endless outdoor adventures, but our Irishman had a rich life of his own about which we, his family, knew precious little. Kelly was a charmer, from tip to tail, and lived his life with a sweet swagger that's hard to describe. 

There are countless tales I could tell about his fascinating life - the time he fell through thin ice on the frozen lake and was saved by a neighborhood dad who happened to see him go under and rushed to the rescue, or the opportunity he took to father a litter of puppies with the only other purebred Irish Setter for miles around. But there is one memory that burns brightly among the others.

One day, my youngest brother came home with a prize he'd found in the woods. Now, this came as no big surprise as our woods were seemingly stuffed with endless treasures and this time it was a string of large wooden beads arranged in sets of different colors with a charm in the middle. My brother dropped the beads over Kelly's head and they settled on his sleek red chest as a perfect necklace. I was delighted with our dog's new bling but my mom was beside herself.

"Take that off right now!" she fumed. "Don't you see what that is?"

Well, no. We didn't.

She told us that it was a child's rosary - Catholic prayer beads, she explained, when my brother and I both drew a blank - and she made it crystal clear that God would not take kindly to a dog sporting a religious icon that should be devoted only to the most holy of worship.

So my brother took off the beads and that was that. But I considered that situation over and over again, and I could not figure God having any problem with two kids innocently dolling up a dog with some prayer beads. I didn't have much official schooling on God's ways at that point in my life, but I felt certain that he would choose love over judgment every time. Even for dogs wearing rosaries.

Life went on. I hit my teens and eventually went to college. Kelly continued to live a life of independence and intrigue until I was a junior, and his life ended. I grieved hard. And I worried about where he might be.

* * * * *

One night, several years later, I have a dream.

In that dream, someone tells me that if I want to, I can visit my dog in his new life. They give me directions which lead me deep into a forest and eventually to, of all places, a cave. 

A deep, dark, rocky cave. 

A creepy cave. 

Not the kind of cave where I want my dog to live for eternity.

I go into the cave and, much to my surprise, find it to be delightfully warm, cozy, filled with golden light, and furnished to proper human standards. And tucked into the kitchen at the back of the cave, standing behind a well-scrubbed and timeworn wooden table, I am shocked to see two nuns. In full nun habits. I mean, the long black robes and Flying Nun headpieces worn by the strictest of 60s parochial school-teaching and ruler-wielding nuns on record. But these nuns smile at me benevolently, as if they are not at all surprised to see me come waltzing into their cave.

"I'm sorry, I think there's been a mistake," I stammer. "I came here looking for my dog."

The nuns smile ever more sweetly. "We know. We've been expecting you. And so has your dog."

At that point, I turn back toward the mouth of the cave, and just as full of the Irish spirit and devil-may-care charisma that carried him through his life on earth, my good ol' Kelly comes strutting into the cave. Clearly, this is where he lives. He gives me a warm, wiggly welcome, as if he did indeed know that I would come looking for him. He walks on past me to accept routine greetings from both of the nuns, who love him up in full fashion. And then he circles back around the kitchen table to the mouth of the cave and heads out to continue on his busy adventures in the woods of eternity. 

* * * * *

I've treasured this dream for decades. To be honest, I have no clue what the Catholic symbolism represents, but thanks to my dream, I know one thing for sure. When I show up in heaven, I'll know just where to look for my good dog, Kelly.