All dogs go to heaven.

I believe mine did.
Chinkie, born 12 May 1997.
His heart gave up pumping today, 10 Jun 2010.
And I wasn't even there when he passed on.

I came home not once but twice today, in the afternoon, to pick up my dvd player... And 15min following that, I came back again because I've forgotten the remote. First time home, he was walking ever so slowly towards me when I got in the door. I gave him a hug and he plopped himself onto the floor, in front of me. His front paws spread outwards. First sign. And I failed to notice.

I only thought it strange his paws were not in their usual position, tugged in front, or half-bent backwards. He didn't seem like he wanted to walk. I carried him in my arms and gave him a good rub-down from head to back. I let him down onto the floor and he plopped straight back into that "strange" position.
I failed to be alarmed.

Then he got up on his own and walked a little, albeit very slowly. I thought "ok, he's walking..."

Before I left, I patted his head and said my usual "Bye! Be good. See you tonight."

That was approximately 2:15pm when I left the first time.

I headed back in again, about 2:30pm, for the dvd remote. He was just coming out from the kitchen, and probably wondering why I'm back, again.

My last moments with him:
He was standing close to the speakers. Just standing. Staring. He stood so still at that spot when I headed towards the door to say my "goodbye". I couldn't bear that stare, so instead of closing the door, I walked back in, right up to him, stroked his head, kissed him and hugged him (for the very last time).

"Bye Chinkie, see ya!"
.
.
.
.
For all the times I've failed him, he's never failed me.

Mum called at 7:46pm.
She's just gotten home and sees him lying under her favourite chair. She suspects he's gone, but was too afraid to touch him. I was running from the carpark home the minute I stepped out of the car. Mum was standing outside the door, looking all uneasy. I had, for several moments, wished he had waited till I got home to leave. I still do. He must have felt so alone. And so dark.

We wrapped Chinkie in a towel and waited...

I carried him, for the very last time, walked through the coridors, into the lift, downstairs, and finally into the van, that will transport him to his final "resting place", cremate him and finally scatter his ashes into the sea.

I believe you're in a better place, Chinkie. But I probably need some time for that to sink in. I would like to think you were comfortable when you heaved your last breathe, because you had your head so well-rested at the base of mum's chair.

I love you and you'll always be remembered and missed.