Well I had my chores all laid out for the day. I started with an early morning shoot and then after that I’d get ugly on the mower and the housework. My intentions were the best. After I finished up at the range I sent my texts for the day: I asked the wife how her day was going, sent one to Big Al to see if he was still alive, and then one to Queen Mary. Little time went by and Mary dialled back. Her prize German Shepherd had had to be put down and she asked if I could go out and help her dig the grave.
I got down about four feet. Mary prattled and spoke and would square off the hole when my spade wandered. But at four feet my back was knackered. When I was a kid I’d have been half way to Australia by coffee time… but I was done. She backed up with the car, and I laid the puppy to her final rest in the sunshine beside the trees. And Mary went to pieces for a bit when I started filling the grave. King Peter was up North, and his brother was there but had just had a hip replaced, so I got the honours. Mary recovered quickly though… and I was so happy when the job was done.
FOUR FEET??? Heck; my criteria for burying a dog is "Will the feet stick out after the first rain?" No? Good. DONE!
ReplyDeleteYour a good man, Filthie. Losing a four legged friend is always tough. Glad you were their to help.
ReplyDeleteYou are a good man, Glen. Especially to step in at such a time.
ReplyDeleteThe worst was the body bag. It had the logo of a sleeping cat on it. I almost went to pieces when I saw that. Darned if I know why….
ReplyDeleteNot a fun job at all even if it was not your dog.
ReplyDeleteRespect for your compassion. I've had to bury several of my wife's animals in North Carolina clay in the summer. It's not easier with age.
ReplyDelete