The morning started with a grave.
My mom knocked on the door as I was slowly waking up.
She was there to tell me that she was taking the dog we've had for the past twelve years to the vet to be put down.
This morning was Becky's last.
My mom asked me if I wanted to say good-bye to her, but I said no. I had said good-bye to her long ago.
Then she asked me if I could dig the grave.
I didn't have the heart to refuse.
This dog has been a quiet, but large part of my family.
She was the one who would calmly and quietly sit next to my youngest brother, who often needed company.
She was his little buddy.
We will never forget her presence.
My mom didn't want to say good-bye.
Not to Becky.
There was thick fog that morning.
The weather had finally decided to cool down.
The smell of freshly broken dirt hung in the air.
The body, wrapped in a towel was placed in the hole.
I couldn't believe it was her.
We planted a red flower bush over her.
A bush to protect her body from being dug up by unsuspecting people or animals.
It was a beautiful plant.
The red flower bush that I don't know the name of.
Red flowers will always be given to that loyal, loving dog.
