Daniel sat there beside that mound of dirt. His heart was broken. He had lost his best friend in the world.
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Daniel had known Shorty all his life, all five years and eight months of it. But Shorty had been around a lot longer than that. Daniel’s father had gotten Shorty from a family friend, a fellow farmer who had a beautiful litter of beagle puppies. Before Shorty had a name, he saw that pleasant and friendly face of Daniel’s father, and while all the others held back close to their mother, Shorty came running, tail wagging.
With its white paint peeling and that rotted front doorstep, their little sharecropper’s shack wasn’t much to look at, but mama and daddy filled it with love. And when Daniel came along, Shorty found a new best friend. They were buddies while Daniel learned to crawl across the wooden floor. They were buddies while Daniel learned to walk. And when Daniel was up in his crib, behind those wooden bars, supposed to be napping, Daniel would look down, Shorty would look up, and after a few moments of staring at each other, they would both begin to whine.
It did not take long for mama to understand what was happening. And at lunchtime, as soon as daddy got in from working in the fields, he was instructed to pick up Shorty and put him in Daniel’s crib. Within minutes, they both were asleep.
The years went by.
“You’d better stay in that yard, young man.” Mama stern but friendly voice was always heard but often unheeded.
As soon as mama was back in the house doing chores, Daniel and Shorty would be out in the woods exploring. They found turtles hiding in the dead leaves, crawfish down in the creek, little snakes under rocks, and they chased squirrels and chipmunks all over that forest.
Sometimes, they would sit together at the creek, side-by-side, watching the water flow, watching for minnows and crawfish. There weren’t any other kids around. Daniel and Shorty had some long conversations on the bank of that creek.
But Shorty was getting old and starting to slow down. One warm summer morning, while they were chasing a squirrel that didn’t have the good sense to go up a tree, Shorty stopped in his tracks and fell over. Daniel ran to his side. Shorty would not wake up. He just lay there twitching. Daniel tried to get his arms around him. Shorty was too heavy. Daniel called out to his father, but he was out in the fields, a long way from there.
Daniel jumped up, ran all the way up the hill, through the forest, then past the house, and out into the cotton fields where daddy was doing some picking.
“Daddy, daddy. Something’s wrong with Shorty.”
A few minutes later, Daniel’s father laid Shorty on the wood floor near the fireplace. He was still alive. Daniel sat there on the floor, gently stroking the short fur on his beloved friend’s back, watching his labored breathing.
Shorty eventually woke up, but he was never the same. He couldn’t play anymore. He would just lay by the fireplace and sleep. Daniel spent hours at Shorty’s side, watching, hoping.
Then one morning, Daniel woke up, went into the living room, looking for Shorty. But he wasn’t there.
“Mama. Where is Shorty?”
“I think he’s outside with your father.” Mama did not like the idea of misleading her son, but she couldn’t tell the truth. Not right then, anyway.
For a while, the story was that Shorty had run away. Maybe he’d come back someday. If not, they just get another puppy. Daniel said “no” to that idea. He only wanted Shorty.
A few days later, Daniel was walking through the forest all by himself, head down, missing Shorty, always expecting, hoping, to see him chasing a squirrel up a tree. Daniel sat in silence by the creek for a while. Nothing was the same. On the way back home, he came across a mound of dirt he had not seen before. It had a makeshift cross at the end of it, reminding Daniel of the pet graveyard at grandma’s house.
Grandma loved her cats. When one of them died, she always had grandpa bury her dear pet, and place a cross made from sticks and twine at the head of the grave. Over the years, a dozen precious cats lived out their lives on that farm, and then passed on. Grandma would always say, “They are in Heaven now.”
Daniel knew that story. And he feared he knew why he was standing in front of this fresh mound of dirt with a makeshift cross at the head of it.
Daniel’s father came walking through the woods from the house. “Your mama told me you was down here. Thought I’d better come talk to you.”
Pointing at the mound of dirt, Daniel asked, “What is that, daddy?” Daniel’s tearful face showed he already knew the answer.
“I’m sorry, Daniel. We didn’t know how to tell you. Shorty was old. No matter how much you love an old dog, he ain’t gonna live forever.” Daniel’s father had to quickly wipe away some of his own tears. He loved Shorty too. He could still remember returning from World War II, walking down that dirt road toward the farmhouse, and seeing Shorty barreling up the road toward him.
“He’s in heaven, ain’t he daddy?”
“Of course, he is, son. He was the best dog I ever had. We used to go hunting rabbits together on grandpa’s farm.” His voice caught in his throat.
Daniel ran to his father. They hugged each other. Then Daniel pulled away.
“Daddy, I want to sit here for a little while. Is that okay?”
“Sure. And if you want, go ahead and talk to Shorty, just like you used to. I’ve done that a couple of times. It don’t bring him back, but it feels a little better to talk to him.” With his gentle, calloused hand on Daniel’s shoulder, he said, “It’ll be suppertime soon. Don’t forget.”
Daniel’s father went back to the house. Daniel sat down in the brown leaves beside the grave, looking at the little cross. He sat there for a long time in total silence, wanting to speak, wanting to tell Shorty how much he loved him and missed him, but couldn’t find the words. Finally, he quietly said, “I’ll be back tomorrow.”
Then he stood up, wiped his cheeks, took a deep breath, and headed toward that little three-room shack, where he knew that his mother and his father would be waiting.