 He grabbed the shovel out of the back and walked down to a certain
stand of trees about 40 feet up the bank from the water. Yes, it was
here. Many days and many nights they'd shared this place. Sometimes
with a campfire -- there, you can see the charred wood still -- and
sometimes with a sandwich or two to share between them during a
bright summer day.Dud started the hole about six feet back from
the ring of rocks that was their fire pit. It didn't have to be a
really big hole, but it took him a long time because he wanted to do
it carefully. He wanted it to be right. The shovel seemed to weigh
50 pounds this morning.
"Mr. Campbell," the veterinarian had said, "there's nothing we
can do. He's old and he can't see anymore, and now he's in pain."
Dud carefully scraped the edge of the hole with the shovel.
Maybe, he thought foolishly, if I make the hole -- well --
comfortable...
Nothing made sense this morning. He'd been forced to make a
decision. It wasn't right to ask that. It wasn't good. No one should
have to decide such things.
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column] |
"It's really for the best. It's just going to get worse."
But how can someone be sure? What if... someday, and somewhere...
it turns out it was the wrong decision?
Don't even think that. There's just the needle, and it's quick,
and then there's just this bundle in a blanket, his favorite
blanket, which I take out of the truck and carry down to the creek
for the last time.
I hope, he thought, I hope... well, it had to be right. Wasn't
it, old fella?
One of life's greatest tragedies is we tend to outlive our best
friends.
[Text from file received from Slim Randles]
Sponsored by:
www.pearsonranch.com.
Farm-direct, delicious California navel and Valencia oranges.
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