God Gets a Dog

By Patrick M. Sheridan

Saint Peter narrates a story that begins when God stops by the Pearly Gates and says, "I'm thinking of getting a dog." He asks Saint Peter for his opinionas towhether He should create the perfect dog from scratch or go over to Doggy Heaven to select one. Saint Peter suggests that God consider Mozart,a dachshundthat Saint Peter has been watching and considers to be the funniest dog he has everseen on earth.

Mozart arrives in Heaven within the month and interviews with God to become His dog. Mozart's humor and total candor win God over and God asks Mozart if he would like to be His dog. Mozart asks that it be a package deal and that his younger brother, Elvis, who had died suddenly only a few days before Mozart, be allowed to stay as well. God says that Elvis can be Saint Peter's dog and help guard the Pearly Gates.

Mozart and Elvis spendtheir time exploring Heaven, talking withsaints,visiting God's Comedy Club, and searching for their roots and heroes. The best conversations are betwen God and Mozart, in which Mozart never runs out of questions and topics to discuss with God.

Mozart and Elvis decide Heaven is really a wonderful place, but could be a little more dachshund friendly. Together they come up with the firstsuggestion list that God has ever received. These and other suggestions lead to what Saint Peter describes as the biggest change in Heaven since the addition of the Pearly gates. The ending is one that the reader will never forget.

Filled with humor and poignant moments, GOD GETS A DOG will be enjoyed by everyone who loves God, likes dogs, and enjoys one of God's greatest gifts to humanity, our sense of humor.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jan 9, 2007
• ISBN: 9781467086691

Patrick M. Sheridan

Emailed separately NOTE TO AUTHORHOUSE As you did with my other hardcover books, please put the author biography on the inside flap of the back cover so that the back cover contains only my photograph. Thank You

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This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.

© 2007 Patrick M. Sheridan. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 4/16/2007

ISBN: 978-1-4259-7740-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4259-7741-2 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4670-8669-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2006910495

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Also By Patrick M. Sheridan

Bottle-Cap Sundaes

Beneath The Radar

The Doer

"If there are no dogs in heaven,

then when I die, I want to go where they are."

Will Rogers

Book One

The Players

Chapter One

The Pearly Gates

My name is Peter. You probably know me as Saint Peter, but since everybody up here is a saint, with two exceptions, we usually drop that formality. Two of us have much more notoriety than we deserve and are still called saints up here. I’m one of them because people on earth have heard about Saint Peter and the Pearly Gates and the name just stuck. I’ll tell you about the other saint in the next chapter if you haven’t already guessed it by then. God always just calls me Peter.

When I say everybody up here is a saint, I’m not forgetting about God and the angels. But since God is one of the main characters in my story, I’ll get to Him in a minute. As for the angels, well, they’re a different story. They were here in Heaven long before any saints showed up and they rarely miss a chance to let us know it, usually in good fun, but not always. I like them and all that, but they do tend to talk a lot about the good old days before the saints came along. They’ve been known to stop just short of saying, There went the neighborhood.

Before I begin the book, I need to say a word about political correctness. I realize that billions of people on earth call God by several different names such as Allah and Jehovah. They also have several different names for Heaven like Paradise or Nirvana, and several names for the souls here that I call saints. Obviously, you are all correct. But for the purpose of telling this story, I’ve always called God, God. I always think of my home as Heaven. And I think Saint Peter has a nice ring to it. So, if you prefer other names, I say this with all due respect, lighten up and enjoy the ride.

In 1623, the poet John Webster wrote, Heaven-gates are not so highly arched as princes’ palaces. They that enter there must go upon their knees.

I love a good quote. I like one even more if it is correct. John Webster was a great poet when he was on earth, and I’m sure he meant well, but he was dead wrong about the size of my gates. I know he was just trying to make a point about how people have to behave in order to get into Heaven.

I suppose I should tell you about the Pearly Gates and why I call them my gates. Let me set the record straight. Heaven’s gates are enormous. That’s one of the many things about Heaven that people on earth don’t know — and that I should know. After all, the gates were my idea, and I’ve been in charge of them for two thousand years.

God and I go way back. It seems like we’ve been friends forever, but I need to choose my words carefully. He actually knows how long forever is. I met God a very long time ago. His son, Jesus, introduced us and we just hit it off. Of course, up here, God hits it off with everyone. He makes everyone feel special.

But back to the gates… and the reason I like to say they were my idea. One day, when I was still getting used to Heaven and just beginning to learn how things worked here, God stopped by to see me. Well, the fact is that God is always here. He is always everywhere. So, when I say, He stopped by, I mean He started a conversation with me. I love our private conversations. The first thing He said was, Peter, you look pretty serious. What’s on your mind?

You already know, don’t you?

The thing is that God knows everything. God not only knows what I am thinking, He knows what I’m about to think.

God said, Peter, we’ve had that discussion before. If you don’t tell me what you’re thinking, I can have the entire conversation without you. Then we’ll have nothing to talk about and I don’t even have to stop by to say hello since I know everything that both of us are going to say. So just pretend that I don’t know what you’re going to say. The point is I enjoy listening to you.

I never want to miss an opportunity to talk to God so I tell Him just what I’m thinking, as if it is news to Him.

Well, okay. I was thinking that when people die and come here, they just find themselves in the middle of Heaven. They’re not exactly sure how they got here. They’re not even exactly sure where they are. It would be like someone from China suddenly appearing in a cornfield in the middle of Kansas and someone else saying Welcome to America. They’d look around and wonder why they wound up in a cornfield, how they got there, and if they were really in America.

Do you think that happens a lot?

Do I think what happens a lot?

That someone from China suddenly appears in a cornfield in Kansas.

Well, no. It was only an example, I said as I noticed he had a little grin and was pulling my leg.

Seriously, Peter, have you been hearing complaints from the people who suddenly find themselves in Heaven?

Not at all. Everyone is very happy to be here, especially those who know what the alternative is. But I still think we could improve on the entry process.

So you think Heaven could use some improvements, said God. That’s a first. What exactly did you have in mind?

Well, we could have some gates. People could appear at the gates and then someone could let them in. The people would then have a stronger sense that they had entered Heaven. People would feel even more special because gates imply that not everyone gets in.

Where would you put the gates? asked God. Gates are usually found attached to a fence on the perimeter of a property. Heaven has neither fence nor perimeter.

Good point, I said. God smiled and I realized that of course it was a good point since all of His points are good ones. I love it when He smiles. Everything around Him gets a little brighter.

I continued somewhat sheepishly. We could put them anywhere. The new arrivals might think they are at the edge of Heaven, but they won’t really care. They’ll just see the gates and want to be admitted through them. The gatekeeper will let them pass through and he’ll say Welcome to Heaven.

You don’t think they will notice that the gates are in the middle of Heaven, similar to the middle of your Kansas cornfield example, except infinitely more beautiful?

They will, but not right away. Later, when they discover that Heaven is all around and the gates are in the middle, the location of the gates won’t matter to them anymore.

God smiled again. I knew this meant he liked my idea. You’ve really been thinking about this, haven’t you? He asked.

Yes. I have.

Okay, here are your gates.

Suddenly, massive wooden gates appeared with stone columns on each side. My jaw dropped.

You look disappointed, Peter.

Ugh! They look awful. No offense.

None taken, said God.

They look like the gates of Hammurabi, I said. Everyone will think we’re expecting an invading army of elephants. I was hoping for something a little more, shall we say, celestial.

God laughed. I really love it when He laughs. It may get a little brighter around Him when He smiles, but when God laughs, all of Heaven instantly brightens. God has a great sense of humor. Okay, how’s this? asked God.

The gates of Hammurabi disappeared and two magnificent gates made entirely of pearl appeared. They were beyond belief. I looked up in wonder and simply said, Wow.

God said, You seem to like them, Peter. You can be the gatekeeper and admit the deserving souls into eternal paradise. I’ll provide you with a perpetually updated list of whom to expect.

Do I really need a list? I thought everyone was screened elsewhere so whoever appears here is to be admitted.

That’s true, said God, except when the computers are down.

We both laughed. Computers wouldn’t be invented for 2,000 years, and God would never need a computer. God invented humor, and every once in a while, He likes to show me that He hasn’t lost His touch.

So that was how Heaven got her Pearly Gates, and they are huge. No one needs to get down on their knees to get through them.

But don’t worry about old John Webster. He came up here about four hundred years ago. He took one look at the gates and said, Wow. There goes my theory about entering Heaven on your knees.

We laughed and we’ve been the best of friends ever since.

I’m the only gatekeeper we’ve ever had up here. I haven’t taken a day off since God created the gates. Most of the people, who have ever lived on earth, have lived there during the last two thousand years. Therefore, most of the souls that have entered Heaven have entered through the Pearly Gates during my watch. Those saints, who were in Heaven before I arrived, have all come around to see the gates and to say hello, so I reckon I know just about everybody up here.

When you come up here to Heaven, you can be sure that I’ll be the first saint you see. And you can relax, because I’ll let you through my pearly gates, — providing you don’t show up because of a computer error.

Chapter Two

The Dachshunds

One day, around the fourteenth century, I was talking with one of my best friends, Saint Patrick. Like I said before, everyone who comes up to Heaven from earth is a saint, but Saint Patrick is the only other saint who retains the title. No one else is ever referred to as a saint in Heaven. Believe me; neither of us deserves the honor. We have a lot of saints named Abdul, Wang, Yitzhak, Indira, Kukai, Phibun, Jigme, and Xanana and I’m certainly not the only saint named Peter. As of this morning, we have 283,719 other saints named Patrick up here, but my friend is the only one called Saint Patrick for a very special reason.

It’s because whenever anyone arrives from Ireland, one of the first things they do is ask where they can find Saint Patrick, the Patron Saint of Ireland. Then they immediately set off to see him. That’s why since Patrick arrived in 493, he’s been the only one beside me that is called a saint. That seems to be the case on earth also, since he’s the only saint with a day named after him. I don’t count Saint Valentine’s Day. Valentine is a good saint, but no one ever heard of him before the greeting card industry took control of the calendar. God had to draw the line though, when the Irish suggested we hold a Saint Patrick’s Day parade up here every March 17th. Still, I’ll say this for the Irish, they’re not afraid to ask for the things that they want.

Anyway, back to that fourteenth century morning, God stopped by the Pearly Gates and greeted Saint Patrick and me. Good morning, Peter, Patrick. How are you doing, today?

Fine, thanks, said Saint Patrick.

Great, I said. Of course, you’re the judge of that. It was one of my lamest jokes, and it didn’t even get a smile out of God. I needed to get some new material.

Peter, give me your impression of the Germans, God said to me.

Guten morgen, Gott. Wo is der church? I said in a very bad German accent. Doing impressions whenever I heard the word impression was getting pretty lame also, but I still enjoyed it.

God almost smiled, but it was more like an I can’t believe you’re still doing that awful impression type of smile. Wo is der church? He asked. Has church become a German word?

I couldn’t think of the German word for church, I said.

Kirche, said Saint Patrick.

Kirche. I knew that, I said. I just forgot. Seriously, God, why are you asking about the Germans?

They don’t seem to be as happy as everyone else, said God. I need to do something that will make them happier.

Well, they’re Germans, I said. The Germans are more interested in precision, order, and efficiency. I think those things make them happy. They just don’t show it as much as other nationalities.

But they don’t seem to have as much fun as the others, said God.

For fun, try the Irish, said Saint Patrick. They have more than their share of fun. I always thought you intentionally made the Germans a little grumpy. They seem to enjoy their stern reputations.

I’m going to do something special for the Germans to lighten their load and help them enjoy life more, said God.

Do you have anything special in mind? I asked.

I was thinking of creating a special dog for them.

Well, Duh, I said. You already created German Shepherds.

God finally laughed. My morning was complete. That was one of my new routines. I had heard it recently from a Bohemian teenager. God said I was centuries ahead of my time on that one. He was right of course. It never caught on in the fourteenth century and was quickly forgotten, but was a big hit in America several hundred