Burying My Faithful Friend

Carole Dixon
A Different Perspective
4 min readApr 9, 2015

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Lightning — March 8, 2007 — April 7, 2015

He was a big dog, too big at times, running into me, knocking me over. He puked every time you put him in a car. He only barked when there was a good reason and he would hush barking if you asked nicely for him to stop.

Lightning had a brother who was a bully. His bully brother dominated Lightning. But his brother had a habit of getting out of the fence and never returned after one of his sojourns three years ago. Once his brother was gone, Lightning began coming into his own.

Later we got Pearl, an Australian Shepard. Lightning was in love with her. He would lope around — he was a gigantic dog — and play like a puppy after she came. He was never truly happy until Pearl became his back yard companion. From then on out he was in love.

He was with me when I built the goat circle, a circle of rocks which even goats could not disrupt. He was around when I built the fire that almost turned into a forest fire. When I piled rocks on the spot where that fire began as a covenant with myself to not be having fires in the woods.

I used those rocks on his grave. We buried him down by the creek, digging a big deep hole, carrying him wrapped in the wool blanket we’d used to move him around and cover him with these last few days while he was sick and dying. We buried him in the blanket.

We shared memories of him, my husband and me, while we dug the hole, covered it back up and piled rocks on it. We shed a few tears. But tonight, I feel like something is seriously wrong in my world. I miss him.

My husband dreamed of him last night, said he’d gotten up and walked, wagged his tail and off they’d gone together. As soon as he told me that, I said to him, he must be dead then. He visited you and let you know he was alright.

He has walked over the rainbow bridge now, as they say pets do. His spirit is alive, but his body is dead. I miss him. I spent a lot of time with him over the years.

Things change. Love changes form. Life changes form. Once I was a child. Now I am approaching sixty. Once he was a sweet little puppy. Then he grew into a gigantic dog. He ate all my leftovers. He protected my house. He put up with a lot of shit from his brother.

I didn’t know I was going to be grief stricken about this. I’ve known for days this was coming, that it was inevitable. Lots of dogs have come and gone in my life time. It feels like he represents every one of them. With his quiet, unassuming loyalty. Always there. Always.

What else is there possibly to say. My friend, my companion of many years has moved on.I am sad. I miss him.

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Carole Dixon
A Different Perspective

citizen journalist, blogger, goat herder, chicken egg collector, novelist and much more