This is Not a Morose Write Up on the Death of my Beloved Dog. Apocalypse Science

Good Dog

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He lived a good long life.

This is a celebration.


This mound of dirt, under which is my good dog- represents the culmination of over sixteen years of work.

For the right to dig a hole and place the limp body of my dead dog.

Something I could never do in Tyrant County, residential sector 5G. Against neighborhood by-laws and zone codes.

Sprinkle the first bits of dirt, wonder if he’s really dead.

Begin covering the hind quarters. How can this be happening?

His lovable snout careening awkwardly in the sandy loam at the bottom of the ditch.

I must cover him over with dirt.

With a soft whimper, choking on tears, I cover his body and tamp the dirt down.

Careful not to press too hard.

I love you.

I euthanized you, dispatched you with mercy to the next dimension.

I saved my money to buy this hole in the ground.

Shalom, my beautiful dog. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

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