A Boy, His Dog and His Dad: A Heavenly Tale
My father said he’d never find a pooch as good as Rudy in his lifetime. Days later, they were both gone.
My father succumbed to advanced heart failure earlier this month. He died in hospice surrounded by family, a tender mercy. After a life spent teaching me how to live well, in the end, he taught me how to die well. He was 79.
It’s funny what you recall in that moment. I remembered his recent visit to my home in Charlotte, N.C. He had come to sponsor my teenage son Finn as he received the sacrament of Confirmation, a Catholic rite of adolescence.
Mike Kerrigan’s father, Michael James Kerrigan. Photo: Donna Kerrigan
Noticing my dad’s pace had slowed, I suggested he get a dog for light exercise and companionship. As if on cue, Rudy, my aged Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, gingerly sidled up to him.
Though Rudy was deaf and blind, he always retained his breed’s amiability. My dad demurred, suggesting he’d never find a dog as good as Rudy in this lifetime. I didn’t press it further.
Just after my dad went to hospice, I called my wife, Devin, to update her. She gave me sobering news of her own: Rudy had gone into the backyard to die. This happened while my dad was in the transport ambulance.
Faith—along with my mother’s inspired unwillingness to leave his side—had sustained me through my father’s final weeks. Yet the news about Rudy knocked me to my knees.
The timing of my pet’s death seemed cruel. But like stepping back from a pointillist painting, the beauty of what was unraveling didn’t hit me until two days later, when dad died.
It was then I recalled our conversation about dogs. It seems my father and my pooch, two savvy schemers, had hatched a plan back in Charlotte.
Rudy, the dog my dad couldn’t ever hope to find, would become his companion after all—only not in this lifetime. The two old souls would meet God together, with Rudy walking slightly out in front. I see the beauty now. Rudy’s work on earth was done. So was my father’s, a sly teacher of life lessons to the end, who outfoxed me one final time.
Mr. Kerrigan is an attorney in Charlotte, N.C.