When I was a small boy, my Sunday school teacher told me that all pets went to Heaven, where, no longer needing a leash or collar, they could frolic happily in the fields of the Lord.
This piece of doctrinal information bothered me at the time as I was in possession of an ant farm, technically conferring upon its creepy-crawly denizens the preferred status of being “pets” rather than pests.
Would all those little ants go to Heaven? One or two would be fine but I didn’t want all my former pets invading Gabriel’s celestial picnics and marching across the angelic sandwiches when I passed through the Pearly Gates.
“Sorry, those are mine.” I would have to admit as some winged and appalled harpist hit a wrong note. After all, I guess it’s bad form to deny old friends in the world of Jesus.