Digging a Hole

It is four feet long by three feet wide and five feet deep. That is as far as we can go. My almost sixteen year old nephew and I are digging in damp clay and dirt. There seems to be more rocks as we go. In this tight, confined space, waist deep, it is difficult pic-axing the stones and then cleaning up with the shovel, now seemingly weighing a ton. My arms ache, sweat pours down my face and my heart is pounding.

The last time I did this was to bury my Shepard Fiddle (full name Fiddle-Fiddle Five) over at the cabin. I remember being tired then too, but not like this. We take turns going into the hole and Junior's time has been reduced to one or two shovel-fulls as now, not only must you scrape, but lift and then throw the heavy dirt onto the pile. The pile is starting to look like Mt. St. Helens.

There is a striking difference between losing a pet and losing a parent. When Dad passed back in March, the paramedics and then hospital staff took charge. All we had to do was find a way to comfort and support each other while managing our own grief as best we could. Interestingly enough, with dogs its a whole other ballgame. We never had arguments with our pets, held no grudges nor critiqued their choices of food, music or politicians. They never had to be bold disciplinarians, holders of the keys, or be anything other than our best friends. They were always there waiting when we got home, ready for some fetch, and always prepared to defend, protect and console.

I think the lessons we can, should, learn from our pets are many, but one always stands out in my mind as paramount; compassion. In their eyes it is always OK. The pain will end, the hurt will subside and the blood will dry, so let's enjoy each other's company and have some fun while we're here. Then there is the coulda, shoulda and woulda. We should have tossed the frisbee more, could have taken more walks and would have built that fence so eight hour days of solitary confinement isn't quite so painful - for both of us - but work got in the way.

I miss my dog. I miss my dogs. Dogs years fly by like leaves in the winter wind. If I had half of my dog's traits I would be a better human.

I think about that as I dig.