When I came home yesterday Belle was laying in the road in front of our house. She had been run over not 30 minutes earlier and her skull was crushed. It may have been the garbage truck because I had met it coming down the road about a mile from our house. Whatever it was it was going fast enough to hit her hard. At least she didn’t suffer. I picked up her limp, still-warm body and put it in the bed of my truck. I’ve heard it said of Black Labradors that they are so intelligent they sometime appear to be on the verge of speaking to you. Belle was that way. She was without exception the smartest dog I’ve ever had. I’m sure the reason she got hit was she trusted the vehicle that hit her to slow down or stop. After all, I always would. She wasn’t a vehicle chaser per se although it was part of her routine to race my truck a couple hundred yards up the road every morning. When she would get to the top of a little rise in the road she would stop, turn around, and go back towards the house. I would glance in the rear view mirror to make sure that’s what she did. I suppose that little race was something she enjoyed doing. But yesterday morning it was different. Instead of turning back towards the house she just stood there watching my truck and I watched her in my rear view mirror. We watched each other until I rounded a curve and she disappeared from view. That was it. That was the last time I saw her alive. And it is the image of her I’ll never forget. Standing on top of that little rise….watching me drive away.

Oh, if only I had known.

I buried her beneath our security light. It’s a good spot—not too close to the house yet clearly visible from the carport and patio. I’m hoping the security light will deter any night critters from prowling around. Next payday I’ll have a sign made to mark her grave. Two concrete blocks are there now.

If you ask almost any Protestant preacher they’ll tell you that dogs can’t go to heaven because they do not have a soul. I suppose that’s true. But I cannot help but hope that somehow God has it worked out so that when we get to heaven we are reunited with those that we loved on earth—pets included. I like to think that someday I’ll see her again—that she’ll come running up to me like she always did with something in her mouth to show me, and that we’ll run, play fetch, tussle, nuzzle and love on each other just like we use to. I guess the pain of loss is the price I have to pay for such unconditional love and companionship. So today, I weep.