Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Three Good Dogs
14th January 2012
When I was a boy my mother bred boxers. They were big lovable dogs to my young eyes and even as I have little memory of the three dogs that belonged to her they are still a fond thought. She named them Bessy, Beoly, and Butch. Butch the only male was the last and only dog to die of old age.
Bessy and Beoly met tragic ends. One was killed by a car when she ran into the street. The other dog ran into a burglar who kicked her in the jaw and killed her. She would have torn into him, I’m sure, but he wasn’t even steeling from my house.
Well, as I said old Butch was the last of my mother’s dogs to walk this world. In his old age he developed tumors on his paws that broke open and bled. Old Butch was not one to whimper, so he never made much mind of them.
I recall the day he passed. I had just gotten those dog treats that look like little O bone stakes and had put them out for him when he just lay down. His eyes were open and to my young mind I had no idea what to think of his lethargy. I tried to put a dog treat in his mouth, but he sat still.
My mother came out and took him away and told me that he had died. Mom was never one to mess about with facts. She never told us about the tooth fairy, and she never said that our dog would go to heaven.
All things that live must someday die, and Butch had a good death. I recall no tears for the old dog as his passing was so slalom and gentle. We should all hope to go so well.
Stay safe, Cassi,
Richard Leland Neal