I like to keep tabs on what is occurring at my former home. That is why I visit Pocket in her dreams each night: To know if there is a situation that requires angel assistance.
Usually, there isn't any trouble within the house except Pocket asking for help when her IBS flares. But she is a voracious reader of pee-mail and informs me if any of her pee pals are in danger.
She brought to my attention a dog named Jimmy. Pocket had sniffed the two-year-old Cockapoo’s message that he had never been to the vet or received a vaccine in his life. Pocket left one inquiring if he meant just suggested shots like Bordetella or Lyme disease. Jimmy re-peed that was every shot other dogs had received.
They exchanged pee one more time. Pocket asked how Jimmy kept from getting sick and was told that God had given him a perfect immune system and he didn’t need any shots forced on him by greedy doctors, controlled by big pharma, using experimental treatments on him.
That was a heck of a pee.
I sighed. Jimmy was not the first dog to ignore science. Pups with his attitude were difficult to deal with. But I would try because he was a friend of Pocket’s.
I visited Jimmy’s dreams and laid it out for him: I was from Rainbow Bridge, and that place was filled with souls who wouldn’t listen to the advice of medical professionals. I didn’t want Jimmy to be another.
He accused me of being a devil in disguise and banished me from his dreams. I told Pocket I had tried and requested she keeps track of Jimmy via his urine stains.
Pocket went a few days without a message, from him and when she finally got one, Jimmy said he had been home with a persistent cough. Pocket responded it was probably Kennell's cough, but Jimmy scoffed at the idea. Everybody knew bordetella was a hoax.
Two days later, Pocket received Jimmy’s mail saying he may have to start leaving messages closer to home since he tired easily. Pocket inquired about heartworm medication, and Jimmy said he never touched the stuff. “That’s like injecting poison into your system.”
Pocket was concerned about her friend and asked me to help, but I was blocked from his dreams and then discovered Jimmy had prevented all angels from giving him advice.
A few days later, Jimmy peed that he must have eaten some medication by mistake because he was so itchy. Pocket didn’t have to ask about flea and tick medication: Jimmy’s arrogance, ignorance, and stubbornness had become a lifestyle for him. The last message Jimmy got from Pocket; he said he had been limping and didn’t know why.
After that, Jimmy stopped taking walks; a few days later, I noticed a familiar dog in line to be sworn into the Bridge. After I had done the honors, I asked Jimmy if he regretted his stance on medication, and he told me not at all. He inquired if he was in heaven, and I told him yes. Then he asked if they did vaccinations here, and I admitted we didn’t
“See,” he said pridefully, “I told you that they were bad. This is heaven. If the medication were okay, I would certainly have them here.”
Then he walked off, blissful in his own ignorance but still quite, at least on the mortal side, very dead.