Day Thirty Six - Hole

I never looked forward to burying you.

My grandmother took care of a lot of animals. As a Humane Society investigator the rural areas where she lived were loaded with many needy cases. Often she would end up taking in abused, lost, or neglected pets and try her best to nurse them back to health. If all those animals weren't enough there were plenty of wild ones that accepted her charity as well.

As happens from time to time a pet or wild animal would let go and die in her care. She would carefully wrap them up, and if there was room, put them in her second freezer on the porch. One of my jobs, shortly after arriving for a visit, was to find a place on her property and then to put them into their final resting place. It was a job that I never looked forward to but knew that she would have liked to do even less.

Up until now, the hardest burial that I had to perform was for my childhood dog, Trudy. She was a beautiful white dog of medium build, and was highly protective of me her whole life. Trudy was put to sleep while I was at school, where I was probably trying to pay attention or else trying not to get caught by pretending to pay attention. It might be sappy, but I feel that she alone taught me how to measure true friendship.

I can clearly remember going to the vets, with my friend William, and picking up Trudy's body. They had put her into a large trash bag. I could feel her cold body as I carried her to the car. She felt so small and fragile, and I couldn't understand why. The thinness of the bag allowed me to feel the curve of her stomach, her legs, and her head, all with too much detail. It was a deeply empty feeling carrying her thru the yard and then into my Aunt's backyard, where I had found a shady place, and where I had dug another hole. I knew at that moment that I could do nothing as difficult as to bury a friend.

It is now time to dig another hole, for another friend, this time in my own backyard. I will put you under the bush, where you liked to sit and watch the birds. That bush bloomed for the first time this year. I know that nature was most likely responsible for the small yellow flowers that have never been there before, but I like to think that perhaps it was you.


Cleveland