Navy

I thought that EnthusiDad's dog died this afternoon.

We went for a walk after Mimic's nap, a ritual we do everyday. He holds her until she's ready to be put down and the silently slips away while she's preoccupied with something and not crying for her daddy. We usually take the decrepit canine with us in hopes to slow the rigor mortis.

We rounded the corner on the way home and EnthusiDad noticed the dog was missing. He turned back to find the "Old girl" and I took the baby back to the house. Minutes later he came in, "I still can't find her," he said while donning a baseball cap and a jacket, "I'll be back."

Whoa, it was getting serious. Again he returned empty handed. "I'm not crazy right? She's not in the house is she?" "Nope," I replied. And then my mind started going through books and movies and recalling that, don't dogs go somewhere private when they die? Oh no. I realized that Navy must be dead under a tree somewhere. Didn't that happen in Where the Red Fern Grows? Marley and Me?!

My mind continued racing, envisioning the scene (that I was convinced, at this point, was about to take place) of Enthusidad crossing the threshold of the front door, grieving over Navydog's body in his arms and saying, "Shield the baby!" through a burst of tears before turning softly to the pooch, "She sure loved this old girl."

Then I wondered what he would do with the body when he found it. Would he really bring it inside? Bury it in the dog park? Take it to the vet? I began to look around the house at the pee pads shielding the rugs from the dog's incontinence problems, the dog dishes, the pictures . . . and I wondered, What will the house look like tomorrow with all of it gone?

Well the dog wasn't dead. The blind thing was at the wrong house's doorstep, waiting. But now I'm beginning to fear that I'll vicariously kill someone else's pet because I replayed the scenario in my head so many times.

Pray that it won't die at least until next Wednesday when I'm gone.