Death of a Dog

The day was pleasant enough; the weather was warming after a few chilly nights and the sun was still on my shoulders, although it would be setting soon. I'd just finished running some circles on my brother's new horse and was walking up onto the porch to play with Issac, who was a little upset that I had gone off on the horse without him. A phone call came, but we ignored it. Dad was grilling hamburgers. "Hey Brad," Dad yelled out into the pasture. Brad was mounting the horse. "Jake just called for you."

"Okay," Brad said as he swung his leg over the saddle. My brother looked cute and grown up in his white stetson hat and blue work shirt. He flipped out his cell phone and rang back to his house, to Jake, across the street. I tossed a football to Issac, chatted with my dad. Then Bradley cried out and I looked over my shoulder and saw him dismounted with his head in his hand. "Melissa," he cried, desperately, as he dropped the reigns and staggered away from the horse. I thought he'd been injured. I jumped to my feet. "Melissa, can you catch this horse?" he asked. The horse was trotting off across the field.

"Are you okay?" I shouted as I started running to him.

"His dog got hit by a car," Chelsea said, coming up behind me. How she knew, I did not know. I heard stifled sobs as his truck sped past us.
... ... ...

I caught the horse and took off the tack.
... ... ...

Fifteen minutes later Brad pulled up into our yard, a dead dog in the bed of his truck. It was his three-year-old rottweiler, Princess. Her mouth was frozen in a snarl, blood was pooling under her cheek. Her legs weren't even stiff. She was still warm, but there was no life inside of her. Aside from the blood, there was no sign of vehicular impact. She was dead.
... ... ...

The people who pulled over to tell Jake that they'd hit a dog had said they knew Bradley, and that they were very sorry. Then they'd left.
... ... ...

We sat there and looked at this dead dog for a few minutes. Bradley's eyes were watering. I felt cold-hearted and uncomfortable, because I wasn't very affected. I felt sad for my brother, though. He kept petting her, as though it would bring her back to life.

The last dog that I buried was over six years ago. It's never really a pleasant situation, saying goodbye to anyone, whether it is a person or a pet.

Brad was beside himself with grief. After a few minutes he broke down into sobs. Again, I felt like an unfeeling person, but I didn't have a strong bond with the animal. I hugged my brother and asked if he wanted me to help bury her. I was surprised when he said yes.

We drove over to his house and picked out a nice place under a holly tree. The sun was setting in its final phases and by the time we were done digging the hole the sky was dark blue. The old pecan trees looked eerie and sad against the stars. The crescent moon glowed. My little brother kept downing beers. Sad country songs blared from the cab of his truck.

We stared at the dog's stiff body in the back of the truck. I didn't know what to say to make anyone feel better: I just wanted to get the dog into the hole. My brother was hesitating. We stared at the dog some more. He opened another beer. I ventured, "It just makes you realize how fragile life is, that you can be here one minute..."

"...and gone the next," he finished.

"I'm just glad that you and I are still alive," I said.

"Me too, sis."

We wrapped the dog in a soft mexican blanket. She'd been dead less than an hour but was already starting to stink. It was winter so we didn't have any flowers. My brother took off his hat and held it over his heart. We said some words at the grave site and then we lifted her in and finished the job.

I know it sounds corny: two grown people doing a burial ceremony for a dog. I thought people only did that stuff for the sake of the kids. But really, when do we stop being kids? The truth is my brother loved that dog and she was killed in a painful accident. He felt responsible. Guilt is the worst emotion, and its irrationality doesn't ease the pain.

But I still couldn't help wondering why I wasn't more affected than I was. I felt cold and steely, as though I was rushing to get the dog into the ground. Was I giving my brother enough time to process things? Was it better to wait and let him do it himself, or was it better to just get the job finished? My feelings were as though if I didn't propel and insist on the burial, the dog might sit in the truck for an indefinite period, and my brother on the tailgate, with his head bowed and eyes closed. It was awkward and uncomfortable for me to see so much emotion erupt from my brother.

The only thing I could equate it to is the death of a child or a loved one. I've been fortunate not to lose many people in my life. I don't allow myself to think of losing Issac. Maybe that is why I didn't cry: this time, I am a mother. A mother's life is filled with bracing moments: a steely side develops.

Compared with the thought of losing Issac, everything else pales.