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All good things
September 25, 2015
I witness as as my brothers and father fork the frozen earth with their shovels.
Excavating a hole for my best friend; Rolo, the furry chocolate-and-caramel puppy cradled in my arms.
I remember the good times we had
the people she nipped;
and scratched at;
and barked at;
but
never me.
Rolo was mine.
Slowly, as I lowered Rolo into the ground I query myself, asking if dogs go to heaven.
I begin to weep as I decree, “All good things must end.”
© Tyler B., Buenos Aires, Argentina
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My dog died.