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Father and Son Bury a Dog by David Boutwell January 17, 2007 You've always been good at doing those difficult chores no one likes to do Maybe it's some old yankee trait or just grim determination, I don't know which... You're one of the best at doing something simply because it must be done and maybe that's a gift you've given me and so it is, today, with this chore that you and I have taken on The dog lies lifeless, outside his house just a small spot of black fur painted on a white pallet of snow the stiffness of death embracing his legs and neck already There's no grinning-snout face or wagging-tail greeting for me this day just quiet... except for the tinny sound of a freezing rain on this snowy November ground His eyes look at me now just two cold glazed-black marbles mocking me with stillness You're in a hurry to go start digging the hole while I lift the dog into the wheelbarrel... you grab the shovel as I curse that old musty burlap that covers his hardening body As I wheel this death-load through the trail in the woods I find myself thinking of my two childrens' births and the powerful feeling of holding a new life in my hands this moment is everything opposite of that one, but still as holy These are hard minutes The freezing rain falls and mixes with tears as shovelfuls of dirt pile on top of the crusted snow The fear of touching death grows heavier with me and the dog's slide into its new home is harsher than I'd like I only want him in... and covered... quickly We stand there drenched to the skin The hard contrast of freshly turned soil against white snow brings another tear down my cheek I think of new-born puppies I think of dog years and the smallness of our place in time You are quiet as you put away the dirt-stained shovel and clean the mustard-colored wheelbarrel... ...your tears stay buried About the author: I'm a self-employed carpenter living on a one-acre spread in north central Massachusetts with my wife and two college-aged children. Learning the ways of country life after spending a lifetime in a city setting.I enjoy reading, dabbling in poetry now and then and travelling and touring with my wife. My dream would be to have a book of poetry published one day and leave some sort of legacy behind when I'm gone. | | | |
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