Dog Days

They were a long way from anything. He wanted desperately to believe that they would both make it to the truck and back to the city in time. Maybe the dog could be saved. Not a realistic hope and he knew it.

The dog, who had been his best friend for twelve years, was not going to last much longer. And although it wasn’t much of a surprise, it was the most heartbreaking thing he had ever experienced.

He had needed to get away from everything for the weekend, and what better way to spend a weekend than with the truest friend he had ever had. No demands, no complaining. Just love, companionship, and a bit of begging when it was time to eat. But who doesn’t love fresh meat cooked to perfection over an outdoor fire? Burned on the outside, rare as hell in the middle but still hot, and all the fat separated and burned just right for dessert. Just the smell was enough to drive him crazy; it must have been unbearable for the pup. The begging was easily forgivable so they shared meat that was cooked over the fire together, best friends in their paradise under the sky.

It didn’t look like they would be sharing another meal after the previous night though. Pup wasn’t looking too well. He had been steadily deteriorating for a year or so and this was clearly the last journey. What a wonderful way to spend their final days together. The dog was the best person he had ever known. And would probably ever know. He would miss his pal.

That morning was spent with pup laying in his lap, looking up at him almost apologetically. Sorry for breaking the heart of this man he had known all his life, and for not able to do anything about it. Once he had been the strongest, proudest protector that could be imagined. Chasing off bears or people or some imagined threat. Now helplessly dying and as vulnerable as he had been the day his friend had found him and brought him home. It was over around noon. Except for the crying. That wouldn’t be over for years. If ever.

He had brought nothing to dig with and went to find something suitable nearby. Which didn’t prove too difficult in this landscape. A few time-hardened, grey branches from a dead standing tree would do. He wrestled them off of a worthy volunteer that stood quietly beside a rather ominous looking rock.

It was tough work. The ground was dry and compact. It never rained very much here but the winters brought enough snow that when it melted, the ground became saturated throughout the spring and then slowly cured as the days went from spring to summer. And now it was autumn. It was tough work.

He finished the hole close to six hours later, laid the empty vessel of his companion’s spirit at the bottom, wished him a tearful goodbye and began replacing the dirt it had taken him so long to remove. This part was physically much easier, but the finality of separation between him and his dog was torture. He gave those spring snows a run for their money as his tears soaked the earth.

When the resting place was completed to his satisfaction, he stood up and took stock of his situation. Hands torn and bleeding, and his left elbow was opened up from repeatedly slamming into the hole as he broke the ground apart with the sticks. His clothes were covered in dirt, mud and blood and it was going to be dark soon. Enough food for the night if need be, but he had better get going.

He painfully shouldered his hiking pack, grabbed his walking stick and compass, verified that his internal compass matched his mechanical one and turned to go. In his grief and utter preoccupation of the last hours he had not even acknowledged the existence of anything outside the ten foot sphere of his little world. Didn’t smell anything but the earth beneath him, his own sweat and the scent of the pup when he lifted him and placed him in the grave. Didn’t seem to hear a bird, the wind or the grizzly bear that stood watching him from the shadow beside the big, ominous rock, close to the tree where he had gathered the branches used to dig the hole.

#Dog #MansBestFriend #Puppy #Sad