Sam the Yorkshire Terrier joined our family on Christmas Day 2007. The brown and black puppy wiggled his way into our hearts. He alternated sleeping with our daughter and son before they left home. Then he claimed a permanent spot in the middle of our bed.

We lived with Sammy 24/7/365. He followed us around the house, waiting for people to sit down so that he could snuggle beside them. We never fed the dog from the table, but tasty morsels always seemed to fall on the floor beside him.

Sambo loved road trips. He preferred to drive but begrudgingly sat in the passenger’s seat. The Yorkie barked at every dog or human who dared to use his road.

Sam turned 15 last autumn, and the years showed. The vet diagnosed him with pancreatitis two years ago, and he slowly lost weight. His hips bothered him, and he seldom ventured 25 feet outside the back door.

Our pup took a sudden turn for the worse on the first Saturday of February. We rushed him to the animal hospital, but the vets only could make him comfortable. We tearfully told him goodbye, and Sam left for his forever home.

People who spend years with beloved pets understand. They become precious members of the family and irreplaceable parts of our souls. Parishioners periodically ask if their dogs and cats go to heaven, and I reply, “How can they not?” Their selfless love reminds us of God’s eternal grace.

After all, God is dog spelled backwards. Coincidence? I don’t think so.