Saint Francis of Assisi, death and a dog named Alta| National Catholic Register

It was Alta the dog who knew before any of us that Bill Murphy was breathing his last.

It was only last year, on October 1st, that my dear father left this earthly life for something much greater. I’m still learning to understand this biggerbut I am still amazed by the many graces God has shown me throughout it all.

On this feast of St. Francis of Assisi, patron saint of animals, I can only think of what an Australian Shepherd named Alta taught me in this “hour of death.”

We were all gathered in my father’s room, at my sister’s house – what my dear young daughter will always affectionately call “grandfather’s house”. He had only been in hospice care for a few weeks, after a blessed bucket trip to his beloved Canada to listen one last time to the waves crashing against the shore of Red Bay at his childhood summer home which is in our family for at least four. generations.

It was Respect Life Sunday 2023, and we had taken turns sleeping – or at least trying to. I had the privilege of spending this last night with him and was grateful that he was truly resting peacefully. My sister woke up just before dawn and joined me; we remembered once again with his listening ears in the room. We were really saying goodbye, because his pulse had slowed, his breathing was less labored and his oxygen levels had decreased.

But it was Alta, the dog, who knew before any of us that Bill Murphy was taking his last breath.

The dog looked distressed, with shifting eyes and sudden movements – before running to his bed and climbing with his arms, stretching and clawing at my father to reach his face. The dog whined a little and gave my dad a huge lick across the face.

And then my father died.

How did the dog know? What heightened sense is it – dogs are famous for this ability – to sense the last moment?

My father loved All Saints and he loved animals – especially dogs – but my father did not approve of society’s obsession with animals: he was pro-life, not pro-dog.

But Alta knew it was Daddy’s time: this furry creature of God made us all realize that our dear patriarch had breathed his last.

Of course, Alta was losing her family too. My father adored this dog and took care of him like an alpha male commands most dogs. Alta always sat at Dad’s feet, constantly aware if her beloved human ventured outside or came home.

We always had dogs growing up, and my dad always had a way with them – maybe he knew what we could learn from them and what they could learn from us.

And we’re still learning from dear old Alta.

He is a true shepherd; barks constantly while Annabelle and her cousin Cole swim in the pool, making sure we are all aware that there is a splash! “Why is no one reacting? he always seems to say with every bark – his vigilance is constant like an Italian grandmother determined to make his case heard – so much so that my daughter has nicknamed him “Lifeguard Alta”. When my nephew Riley pulls into the driveway in his truck, which once belonged to Grandpa, the dog is the first to alert us to the teenager’s approach.

Every time we visit him, Alta is the first at the door, so eager for a scratch or a pet, for an affection that he demands and desires with attentive eyes that seem both happy and sad. And he’s there for us, the moment Cole hits the ground playing lap hockey or Annabelle loses her footing kicking the soccer ball. He always throws himself at all of us, to bind up the wounds and make sure we are okay and know that he is there for us.

This constant attention reminds me of my father, who not only was there when someone needed him, but was also very aware of the quality of our time, especially when we absorbed stories together. It wasn’t enough to simply read a book aloud at the dinner table with the family: We were supposed to be able to summarize the story if he stopped and asked, “So, what happens now?”

Dad’s soul was warm and welcoming, a “refuge of compassion.”

As Saint Francis of Assisi said:

“If you have men who will exclude every creature of God from the refuge of compassion and pity, you will have men who will do the same with their fellow men. »

God gives us so many graces and “heavenly hugs,” especially when we are grieving, including through interactions with the beloved creatures so dear to Saint Francis: a cat that decides to climb on your lap or a dog who comes in with a big lick on your face, or a bird who flies overhead looking up to the sky in prayer; everything becomes moments to stop and give affection – and thank Jesus for those truths that always seem so small until they are magnified in a grace-filled moment.

I consider it a sign of God’s love that my father died on the feast of Saint Thérèse of Lisieux, the first saint we both loved during our conversion together.

But I know I have a new connection – in my heart and in my head – to understand the true depth of God’s love as He uses dogs to teach me even more, on the feast of Saint François and every day in between.