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Dog Worshippers, There's A Chapel For You

Photo by KRISTEN LEVINE

Wooden statues of dogs and other pets, some of then angels like this one, keep company with thousands of memorialized pets.

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By KRISTEN LEVINE

Tribune correspondent

Published: November 2, 2008

We discovered heaven for dog lovers on the side of a mountain in St. Johnsbury, Vt.

Two months ago, I was surfing the Internet looking for the latest on Steven Huneck, my favorite dog artist. At his Web site, www.dogmt.com, I found something new: The Dog Chapel. It's on Dog Mountain (too good to be true).

Paul, and I were married in Vermont 22 years ago, and we were way overdue for a vacation. Plus, we were about to mark the first anniversary of life without Zeke, our 14-year-old black Lab.

Vermont seemed to be calling, along with The Dog Chapel.

So six weeks ago, on a rainy Friday afternoon, we drove up a winding Vermont country road littered with gold and red autumn leaves. Halfway up the mountain, I began to feel like a kid on her way to the Magic Kingdom. Sure, we had been looking forward to Vermont's cool temperatures, fall foliage and sipping cider. But truth be told, this vacation had a single purpose: to see The Dog Chapel.

Near the top of the mountain, we came upon two buildings, one of Steven Huneck's galleries and a small 1820s-style church.

It's a very private spot on a 400-acre mountaintop farm at the end of a dead-end road. And we were the only visitors on this drizzly fall afternoon.

To prolong the anticipation, we visited the gallery first and were greeted by two friendly dogs belonging to the manager. We felt instantly at home. We found a print by Huneck that was surely meant for us: a black Labrador licking a kitchen plate. Zeke's nickname was Plate-licker because it was his job to "rinse" the dinner plates before they went into the dishwasher.

We bought the print.

Now it was time for the church. I double-checked my bag for the snapshot of Zeke I'd grabbed at the last minute when we were leaving home. I didn't know what compelled me to bring it, except that this visit had a lot to do with him.

The church is vintage Vermont, with a white steeple pointing toward the heavens. It's topped by a Lab with wings that turns in the wind.

The sign in front says: "Welcome. All creeds, all breeds. No dogmas allowed."

(Why didn't I think of this?)

We weren't prepared for what happened next.

Inside, light colored by a dozen stained-glass windows streams over glass images of dogs, all doing what dogs do - enjoying life. Soft music fills the chapel, and the rooms are inhabited by playful wooden sculptures, mostly of dogs.

But the most overwhelming sight was the thousands upon thousands of dog snapshots on the walls. Just like the one I had brought. Some were crumpled or faded, some Polaroids and some framed. All were very clearly heartfelt mementos of cherished friends. Families had traveled from all over to visit this place.

Now I knew why I'd felt that compulsion to grab Zeke's photo. He was due his place here in the house of dog worship.

Though we were alone in the chapel, we felt embraced by dog lovers. There wasn't an inch of wall space in this 30-by-60-foot room that wasn't covered by a picture. Thoughtfully, a table at the front holds colorful index cards and pushpins, so visitors can post a message along with their pet's photo.

Paul and I wrote a tribute to Zeke on a blue card.

It was hard to find an open spot for it; we didn't want to disturb any pictures. We finally found the perfect space. I stood on a chair to tack Zeke's photo and message next to a stained-glass window, between two other black Labs, Toby and Carson.

We said a little prayer for Zeke, read more tributes and left, walking out backward to imprint in our minds every detail of this amazing little place.

The Dog Chapel is Huneck's creation. After surviving a nearly fatal experience several years ago, he recovered with the help of his wife, Gwen, and his three dogs, Sally, Artie and Molly, two black Labs and a golden retriever.

"I wanted to build a chapel, one that celebrated the spiritual bond we have with our dogs, and that would be open to dogs and people - of any faith or belief system," he explains on his Web site.

And it's not only about dogs we once loved.

"It's my hope that dog owners will bring their dogs with them," says Huneck. "It's a wonderful experience to go on a walk with your dog through an old forest. You see how your dog becomes fully alert, your guide and protector."

I'm sure we'll go back someday. And if you love dogs, you should, too.

From the outside, far left, The Dog Chapel in St. Johnsbury, Vt., looks like many other New England churches. But inside, left and below left, the chapel is a spiritual tribute to beloved companions, with walls covered by photos and notes. Kristen and Paul Levine visited in memory of Zeke, below.

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