Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - In the old Tower - III
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“He was a hard-working doctor,” said St.
Luke, the Beloved Physician.
“Heaven is full of his patients and so is Hell,
I am told,” retorted St. Dominic.
“He has had the audacity to bring his dog
with him, he is sitting waiting for his master
outside the Gates of Heaven,” announced St. Peter.
“He will not have to wait for his master for
long,” hissed St. Ignatius.
“A dog at the gates of Heaven!” ejaculated a
grim-looking old prophet in a furious voice.
“Who is that?” I whispered to the patron
saint of the dogs.
“For God’s sake don’t say anything, remember
the warning of the Archangel. I believe it is
Habakkuk.”
“If Habakkuk is amongst my judges I am lost
in any case, ‘il est capable de tout,’ said
Voltaire.”
“A dog at the gates of Heaven,” roared
Habakkuk, “a dog, an unclean beast!”
It was too much for me.
“He is not an unclean beast,” I shouted back
glaring angrily at Habakkuk, “he was created by
the same God who created you and me. If there
is a Heaven for us, there must also be a Heaven
for the animals, though you grim old prophets,
so fierce and stalwart in your holiness, have
forgotten all about them. So for the matter of that
did you, Holy Apostles,” I went on losing my
head more and more. “Or why did you omit in
your Holy scriptures to record a single saying of
our Lord in defence of our dumb brethren?”
“The Holy Church to which I belonged on
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