When I started going around telling folks I was a writer, I took to heart philosopher Francis Bacon’s advice: “A man would do well to carry a pencil and paper in his pocket, and write down thoughts of the moment. Those that come unsought for are commonly the most valuable, and should be secured, because they seldom return.”
So, I’m never without a notebook and pencil in my shirt pocket. As a result, I’ve become a diligent daily diarist.
Recently I was reading a diary entry I made in May of 1988. In that month, Domino, the best dog who ever chose me as his man, passed away. Dog and man were inseparable for twelve years.
Domino was a harlequin Great Dane, a gentle giant, almost three feet tall at the shoulders. He was a 220-pound, muscle-bound, black and white canine colossus who could put his paws on my shoulders and look over my head.
Domino was not only huge, but also smart. He had a big brain, and a bigger appetite. As a puppy, he ate several times a day, and when full grown, only a large punch bowl held enough to sate his hunger.
Almost three decades have passed, and still the empty spot in my heart Domino once filled remains.
Every May, I record in my diary a few remembrances of our happy days as soul mates, and memories of other dogs that loved me.
A few Mays ago, I entered comments made by folks who believe as I do that the Lord gave us dogs like Domino, not only to be loyal, loving companions, but also to be an effective salve for aching hearts.
Television writer Andy Rooney opined, “The average dog is a nicer person than the average person.”
Cartoonist James Thurber said, “Among my beliefs about immortality, one is that certain dogs I have known will go to heaven … and very few persons.”
Humorist Josh Billings said, “A dog is the only living creature on earth that loves you more than he loves himself.”
Writer Milan Kundera said, “Dogs are our link to paradise. They don't know evil, jealousy or discontent. To sit with a dog on a hillside on a glorious afternoon is to be back in Eden, where doing nothing was not boring … it was peace.”
Photographer Roger Caras said, “Dogs are not our whole life, but they make our lives whole.”
Humorist Will Rogers once said, “If no dogs are in heaven, then when I die I want to go where they went.”
When I stand before the Lord on Judgment Day and if He decides to let me pass through the Pearly Gates, one of my biggest thrills will be reunification with loved ones, especially my dear sweet mother.
Also, I yearn to be reunited with all the wonderful dogs that enriched my mortal passage.
I stand a good chance of passing through those Pearly Gates … if I am as good a person as those dogs thought.
Jimmy Reed is an Oxford, Mississippi resident, Ole Miss and Delta State University alumnus, Vietnam Era Army Veteran, former Mississippi Delta cotton farmer and ginner, author, and retired college teacher.
This story is a selection from Jimmy Reed’s latest book, entitled The Jaybird Tales.
Copies, including personalized autographs, can be reserved by notifying the author via email (.(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address)).
When I started going around telling folks I was a writer, I took to heart philosopher Francis Bacon’s advice: “A man would do well to carry a pencil and paper in his pocket, and write down thoughts of the moment. Those that come unsought for are commonly the most valuable, and should be secured, because they seldom return.”
So, I’m never without a notebook and pencil in my shirt pocket. As a result, I’ve become a diligent daily diarist.
Recently I was reading a diary entry I made in May of 1988. In that month, Domino, the best dog who ever chose me as his man, passed away. Dog and man were inseparable for twelve years. 
