I think my dog died some time ago. A lady from across the road came to our door and, twisting herself into hysterics, she managed to tell us that he was dead beside her paper box. My father fetched him in the truck, and my mother was so upset I thought she'd jump on his funeral pyre if we were to cremate the thing. And from where I was, he wasn't our dog. Things that go in the ground don't belong to people.
I guess people get attached to their animals pretty quickly. To me, it was just that -- an animal. Neither flesh, nor blood; just something that sucked up air sometimes and pooped in the neighbor's yard. He was a great dog.
The ironic thing was that he'd been to the vet just hours before a car hit him, and the guy told us he could live for another couple of years. He probably would have, too.
I guess people get attached to their animals pretty quickly. To me, it was just that -- an animal. Neither flesh, nor blood; just something that sucked up air sometimes and pooped in the neighbor's yard. He was a great dog.
The ironic thing was that he'd been to the vet just hours before a car hit him, and the guy told us he could live for another couple of years. He probably would have, too.
