Trust in God! As we surrender what we love, we are cast into
the bittersweet moment where we acknowledge God’s divine
providence for our beloved animal companions, and we walk in faith.
—Susi Pittman

“No, Rebel, you can’t die! It’s not fair, Mom, why does he have to die? Why can’t the
doctor save him? Please tell me he will be all right, please! I can’t let him go … please,
no!”

My mother replied, “We can’t help him now. He has to go home to God.”

My beautiful white German shepherd, Rebel, had distemper. I later learned that
distemper was a dreaded fatal virus for an unvaccinated young dog, causing a host of
horrific symptoms and resulting in an agony-filled death if the animal is not euthanized.
The man my father had bought Rebel from just over a year ago had given us forged
papers on Rebel’s inoculations, and now this beautiful creature was going to have to be
put down.

I was devastated. I was twelve years old, and my world was coming to an end.

Rebel had been especially attached to me from the beginning—much to the
dismay of my father, who had always held the top spot in the family dogs’ affection. But
Rebel had chosen me to love the most, and I knew it. That made our relationship even
more special! I was his and he was mine. It was like we had always known each other.
We did everything together, energized by each other’s presence. At night, he lay beside
me on the bed, both of us in the blissful peace of God’s care.

Rebel was my hero, my friend, my personal confidant. We were invincible
together, and the world was ours to explore and share. Even today, I think of him and
how connected we were; how we never spoke, yet understood one another perfectly; how
we needed only to be close to each other.

It came to an abrupt end when one morning he could not get up. His hind legs
dragged on the ground like dead weight. Yet his eyes were still aglow with joy, and his
tongue hung from what I always called his “smiling face.” It was so confusing. He was
the same; his body was not.

The time to part came all too soon. I wasn’t allowed to go with Rebel to the vet’s
office; I had to say good-bye to him at the house. I hugged his neck and stroked his back,
cuddling his paw and crying so hard. He looked at me with such love and such sadness. I
know he knew he was leaving, but everything about him said he was okay with that.

He was the first animal to show me acceptance of impending death—something I
would witness time and again not only in my own pets, but also in wild animals. Rebel
knew that he was going to die, but he also felt the Creator’s call inside himself. And
though I was only twelve, I saw and felt this very powerfully. I felt God in that
moment—a moment that set me on a path with creation, though I could hardly know then
what was to come.

As a hart longs for flowing streams,
so longs my soul for thee, O God.
My soul thirsts for God, for the living God.
When shall I come and behold the face of God?
My tears have been my food day and night,
while men say to me continually,
“Where is your God?”
—Psalm 42:1–3

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