On a leafy hill near the shire of St. Johnsbury in the Northeast Kingdom of Vermont, is a unique place of silent reflection and remembrance. Known as the Dog Chapel, it is one of several buildings on Dog Mountain celebrating man’s best friend.
The brainchild of the late folk artist and author Stephen Huneck and his wife Gwen, Dog Mountain is a 150-acre woodland playground for dogs and their people, complete with swimming ponds, trails, an agility course, wildflower meadows, and beautiful vistas. Dogs are encouraged to romp unleashed wherever they wish, and as the website for Dog Mountain proclaims, “Dogs are not just welcome here, they are cherished.”[1]
Huneck’s artwork and his books are on display at the Art Gallery on Dog Mountain, but though I found the gallery intriguing, my primary destination was the chapel.
Created in 2000, the Dog Chapel was introduced to the world as a “symbol of peace, love and remembrance.” But in the 20 years since, it has been transformed by thousands of visitors into a living memorial, where grief for a beloved pet can be fully expressed without embarrassment. I wanted to be among that number.
My story also starts in the year 2000, when my children and I found a bag of eight newborn puppies, thrown into an empty dog food bag and tossed into the woods. We were all crying, along with the puppies, when we brought the bag home to show my husband, and soon learned upon calling our vet, that they were not likely to survive the night unless we acted as a substitute for their missing mother. This meant, among other things, maintaining their body temperature by keeping them near milk jugs filled with warm water, feeding them with an eye dropper, and regularly wiping their hind ends with wet cotton balls (who knew mother dogs did this?) to get them to go potty. It was like taking care of octuplets.
We lost two of them early on, but six survived their first eight weeks. When they reached an adoptable age we faced a terrible dilemma: which of the six were we willing to give up? We had each bonded to one or more of them, and after days of deliberation and more tears, we finally reached a decision. We would keep them all.
I could fill this page with stories about what it is like to raise two children, three cats, and six dogs (which necessitated a move to a bigger house, naturally) but I will simply say that I would not change a minute of it. Many a night, after a long, difficult day at work, I would lay down on the floor and let myself be covered in dog snuggles and kisses. They provided me with plenty of exercise (walking six at once proved an impossibility), scared away more than one would-be intruder, and filled my life with unconditional love, as well as laughter.
Anyone who has ever loved a dog will tell you how unfair it is that their lives are so much shorter than ours. Imagine then, the serious downside of loving six dogs born at the same time with the same genetic history. Our six all passed away over the space of three years, and when the last one died in my arms at the ripe old age of 15, I could not focus or concentrate. I doubted I would ever overcome this monumental sense of loss, and feared I would never love another dog again.
So when I read about the Dog Chapel, I knew it was a place I needed to go. Once inside the quiet chapel, I was both stunned and overwhelmed. Every wall from floor to ceiling was covered with photos and heart-wrenching letters, and I felt I was in the middle of a vortex of anguish and love. I started to read one and stopped because the tears started flowing, and I noticed the people in the pews around me were crying too. I was openly weeping when I wrote my words of love for my six, a tribute to their bravery and resilience in overcoming significant odds, and realized that at last I had found an outlet for my sorrow. When I left, I felt at peace.
I have a new dog now, left to me by a neighbor who passed away and wanted his beloved pet to go to a good home where she would be well-loved. She has reminded me of everything I love about dogs–from their loyalty and fierce protectiveness, to their ball-chasing enthusiasm and devious ways of letting you know they don’t like being left at home alone (mine throws our clothes all over the house).
I will never forget the six dog babies who left a great hole in my heart, but the Dog Chapel helped me heal. I am ready now, to love and cherish this new one.
Have you ever lost a beloved pet and longed for a way to honor their memory? Do you have a dog now who makes you happy to wake up every day? I would love to hear your stories in the comments, below.
Moxie Gardiner is a writer and gardener who grew up on the West Side of Buffalo, NY. In a previous life she was a journalist, magazine editor, speech writer, and policy wonk. Back in the day she made three solo parachute jumps, flew in an F-15 fighter jet, and crawled through mud pits at the Jungle Operations Training Course in Panama. She now meditates and practices yoga. She is almost ready to publish her first novel, set in Buffalo.
[1] For more information about Dog Mountain see the official website at https://www.dogmt.com/Dog-Mountain.html.