Do guinea pigs have souls?

Someone on Facebook asked us to pray for the intersession of their dead guinea pig. My first thought was that I don’t pray for guinea pigs, cats, chihuahuas, or trivial pursuits. I can’t understand people asking for prayers for the daftest things. Part of me is scandalized by the concept, thinking it’s downright sacrilegious. Maybe even a venial sin. But then I find the idea of prayer and intercession ludicrous—especially for pets. Do guinea pigs or pet rabbits even have souls, and what about goldfish who can’t remember anything longer than five seconds? And what about the rainbow bridge? Someone points out that the Bible doesn’t specifically say that animals don’t have souls. I want to counter that interpretive theological dance of anthropomorphism by saying nowhere in the Bible does it say that animals do have souls. Nor is there any mention of the rainbow bridge. Perhaps they don’t know what the concept of immortal soul means in regards to western religion. Or the idea of animals, with no concept of mortal sin, needing salvation and redemption. Do they need to tally up a purgatorial piggy bank of prayer credits in order to be able to go to pet heaven—the rainbow bridge? What is soul vs. spirit? An entity separate from the body. During the Middle Ages, barnyard animals—especially pigs—were hanged from the gallows tree for gluttonous misdeeds. Did their owners eat those condemned felonious animals? Did that make them sin eaters? Then I think of all the barbecued guinea pigs I ate in Peru. Should I have also said grace for their souls? Of course I stay silent, for fear of stepping on anyone’s cosmic toes. But also, I realize that it gives people a tangible form to contain emotions that they otherwise cannot cope with. Perhaps invoking St. Francis would make more sense. And what about that coin for Charon? And of course, then there’s the big taboo to never mention the D word—saying something has passed versus died. I abhor euphemisms. Is it because I am a writer in love with strong nouns and active verbs, not adverbs and adjectives. I want to be able to blurt the word death with impunity, and not be sanctioned for it. I want to scream it from the rooftops, and not let it get expunged from our vocabulary. But I fear it is too late. The parrot died. It didn’t pass. When somebody says so-and-so passed, I think he passed what? The test, the corner, gas? The past? Now there’s an idea. Like Dylan Thomas, I will not go gentle unto that good night. I’m not too sure how the avoidance of the word death began. The beginning of taboo, that which must not be named. The idea of praying for pets, like saying Bless you, is so Deep South. But I can’t help but think it is a curious sociological concept of sanctioned avoidance. I never say anything, but I do acknowledge their grief, usually with the care button. What else can one do? It is horrible to lose a pet we get so attached, but the idea of praying for its intercession seems downright silly. Then I realize I don’t have to accept their bizarre theological constructs, nor do I need to enter their world in order to understand that someone is genuinely grieving for their small, dead pets.

This was from a Facebook comment on Judith Gip’s page that I worked on and expanded instead of doing my Write On prompt for July 5.