I had a dream about loss and it got me thinking of the losses, and there have been some, most self-induced, but a few were the ones the world gives us all.

 

I was a senior in high school and my family was going through some marital turmoil and my dad had moved out. It was a sad time for all of us, but I remember thinking I needed to be more responsible now that the real world was creeping in. I don’t know if I ever actually took more responsibility, but I did have it in mind. It was kind of my first real taste of growing up.

 

My mom worked in a grocery store and she usually worked Sundays. My sister and I were at home one Sunday with my dad’s dog. He stayed with us during the breakup. I don’t remember the dog’s name, but he was a young golden retriever, pretty as a picture, with those cool golden curly locks. He was still a puppy, but was pretty big, and he was so cuddly and friendly.

 

Anyway, I decided I was going to town to see friends and get out of the house. I went out got in my car and backed down the driveway. When I started backing out, the car went over a pretty good size bump. It surprised me. Then I heard the dog yelp, and I saw him run around the side of the house yipping all the way, obviously distressed.

 

I remember thinking if he was running he was probably okay. He must have been asleep under the rear tire in the shade of the hot Mississippi swelter. But he was running, so he had to be okay was what I was thinking.

 

My sister heard the commotion and came outside. The dog had been gone around the back of the house for a while, so I told her what happened as we ran around to the backyard.

 

He was lying down and whimpering and I could tell his injuries were severe. I picked him up and rushed to put him in the car and my sister and I took off driving toward town. We had to find some help for my dad’s dog.

 

We lived in a small Mississippi town in the early 70s. Stores weren’t allowed to sell beer or any non-food items on Sundays, and besides church and gas stations, were the only businesses even open. We had no idea where to go. But we drove. We had only lived in town for a bit over a year and we’d not had occasion to go to a vet, but I was hoping to see someone we could ask for help, I guess.

 

The dog was on the front seat between my sister and I as I drove. My sister was crying, and I suppose I was too. I could see the poor guy trying to take breaths, trying to raise his head, and he had drool coming out of his mouth making puddles on the seat cover.

 

I stopped the car, and we watched him slowly die, breath by lessening breath, until he took his last one. He was gone.

 

I had run over my dad’s dog. My life’s turmoil had escalated even further. I envisioned myself calling my dad and telling him. We went home and I wrapped the dog in a big blanket.

 

I called my dad and told him what happened. I have no memory of the following hours, and I don’t really remember what was happening with my sister. But do remember she was very supportive of me and my anguish at killing the dog. She told me it wasn’t my fault between her considerable sobs.

 

My dad got home and my mom came home from work, we all cried and hugged, and my dad said we had to go bury him. He got a shovel from the garage and we all got in the car and drove.

 

I don’t remember where we went, but we found some woods off the road and I carried the dog to a little clearing far from the road. I told everyone that I was gonna dig the grave.

 

I dug it until my dad said that was deep enough, and we laid the dog in the hole and covered him up. My dad had some words; don’t remember what he said, but he was not a religious man, so I’m fairly certain god wasn’t involved. But we cried some more, with the loss.

 

My dad moved back home and soon after we moved again. I did drive by the place where we buried the dog a few times. I never went to the grave, I was afraid I would find him dug up by animals, I guess, but I murmured my prayers when I passed the place. Then I said goodbye to him, those times, Mississippi, and high school. It was time to grow up. Yet here I am almost fifty years later. Takes a bit.