Our Rector has written articles over the years for The Church Times Diaries.  We reflect this month, at looking back at the article written in October 2023.

“I’m so sorry to hear about your dog, Fr. John” said the woman at the checkout in our big Tesco’s, “She was lovely”. The whole town seems to have heard that Sophie, my little black Labrador, was put to sleep a few weeks ago: the last act of love, as many pet owners know.  I was hugely touched and supported by the kindness of so many in the parishes and the town. One of my Churchwardens gave me a framed photo of her which she had intended to put with our Ministry Team photos under the title of “Church Dog”: one of Sophie’s friends had flowers put in our Memorial corner in memory of “Sophie Wall”; a former lodger dedicated her M.A. thesis to her (a first to a dog, perhaps!); a local window cleaner came & cleaned my windows and soffits in her memory; all so kind. All in all, there were upwards of 500 Social Media responses, cards, texts, messages and emails from as far away as Turkey, Australia, Italy, France and the United States. It all really helped.

Sophie was indeed the “Church Dog”: as I’ve said previously in this diary, she was a working Labrador and greeting people and making them feel welcome was her work. Whenever I produced a bandana in the day’s liturgical colour to dress her in, she bounced around excitedly knowing she was going to church to see her friends – her greatest joy (after breakfast, dinner and doggie treats). During Lockdown she made a real difference, appearing in the online videos we produced, and people loved her, especially when she got bored and wandered out of shot. One new member of the congregation came purely because she loved Sophie in these broadcasts.

Pets curl up in our hearts, in a different way from human beings, and when they go they leave a real hole, in my case a dog shaped one. One of the hardest things to come to terms with is not just the empty house, but that all Sophie knew, all she’d learned, all she loved – from teddy bears to piggie ears – has gone. I’m reminded of the last scene in “Bladerunner” when the dying cyborg says that all his amazing memories of what he has seen and experienced will be washed away “like tears in the rain”. I know it’s silly, but that is how it feels.I know it’s silly, but that is how it feels. Do pets go to heaven? Theologians like St. Thomas Aquinas think that animals have no souls, so can’t. I don’t care: our pets – like Sophie – have personality, consciousness, and love. One of my predecessors, Canon Bill Peters, used to say at pet- lovers’ funerals, that when we die, our pets will run to meet us. I hope so. Put it this way, if my dogs are not part of my experience of Heaven, I don’t think I’ll want to be there.

I appear to have acquired an Afghan Asylum Seeker here in Uckfield Rectory. It started with a ‘phone call from Francis, a member of my P.C.C. and our Deanery Secretary, who is also the justifiably proud father of Jimmy, the Juggling Jester. Now as the name implies, Jimmy is a Jester who juggles: he is a well-known entertainer in the local area at Fairs, Shows and other happenings, and very good he is too. In his other life as Jaimie, he runs a stonemasons’ yard, and this is where Hasib comes into it.

Hasib appeared asking for work at the yard (he was already working evenings at Kentucky Fried Chicken) which, having a student visa, he was entitled to do. He had come over to England a few months before, intending to start an M.Sc. in I.T. (his first degree was undertaken in Pakistan) but the timing was wrong. Unwilling to go back to Afghanistan fearing he wouldn’t be allowed to return here, he applied for Asylum. I won’t go into the convoluted Kafkaesque details of the process: I suspect the Taliban don’t subscribe to/read “The Church Times”, but you never know. For a little while he cycled from the local Asylum accommodation – a daily round trip of 16 miles – until out of the blue, he was required by the Home Office to go to the Napier Barracks in Folkstone within 48 hours. Hence Francis’ ‘phone call asking if I knew anybody with a spare room. Used to people crash-landing on my Rectory, I offered him my little ironing/box room, which he happily took. However, he was still compelled to go: I remember (I was at the Opera at Glyndebourne at the time, which felt incongruous) getting a text from him saying how bad and grim it was, with mostly (unlike him) illegal refugees. Now, Francis is a retired Solicitor and successfully took up the cudgels with Immigration on his behalf, and Hasib is now settled in my box-room and poised to start his M.Sc online. A devout Muslim, he was so excited to get some Halal meat which he cooked with great relish. We so often see the awful events of war, flood and violence, but it often doesn’t feel real until it becomes close to home and personal. We will see what happens.

Hasib, bless him, was initially, very wary of Sophie as there is no culture of housedogs in his home community. But she worked on him, welcoming him in with wagging tail and bringing him her toys and, before she died, he got to being able to pat her and say “hello”. Sophie’s last little act as a working “Church Dog”.

With thanks to The Church Times to allow us to publish this.