(no subject)
I dug my first grave, today. The pace was slow and the quality was shoddy. I kept having to deal with roots that wished to halt my progress, but despite the earth's barricades I was able to dig into the earth deep enough and wide enough.
Then I had to get the recipient of this new grave, something crafted especially for his size and use. Yesterday he was alive, and despite lacking energy, he was alive enough to growl protectively when anything got near the ham, laced with advil, that we gave to him. I had found him before this shaking and shivering behind a bush, his son standing with him. We procured a blanket for him which I wrapped him in, we procured a small water bowl for him, and the aforementioned ham.
His name was Checkers, and he was a black and white Shitzu-Pomeranian mixture. He was a silly dog, full of energy, protective of his food and always willing to make a break from the backyard so he could mark his territory throughout the neighborhood. He was a good dog. Despite the neglect that he recieved from me, one who typically stayed inside, whenever he saw me, he was more than happy to see me. He never seemed angry, he never seemed bitter; he did what so few could have in such a situation, and he continued to love.
As I laid him down, one of his eyes seemed to pop open and watch me. He was in rigor mortis, I knew he was dead, but he seemed to look at me so sadly. I had to begin putting the dirt on him and I couldn't hold back the tears as my mom sat in a chair near me while I buried him. He had once been alive, he had once contained a spark of life, and now here I was, covering his form with dirt. He was dead and by my hand he was made recondite. It was as if he never existed.
I realized that while I buried him that I didn't want anything to die unless it was unavoidable. Capital punishment popped in my mind, and the idea of it truly bothers me now. To take away someone's life, to end them before amends can be made, before they or situations can be changed--it is truly a horrible thing. I ramble now, but the dog deserved something to help affirm his existence. He deserved something, as well, for the neglect he joyfully recieved at my hand.
I'm sorry.
Then I had to get the recipient of this new grave, something crafted especially for his size and use. Yesterday he was alive, and despite lacking energy, he was alive enough to growl protectively when anything got near the ham, laced with advil, that we gave to him. I had found him before this shaking and shivering behind a bush, his son standing with him. We procured a blanket for him which I wrapped him in, we procured a small water bowl for him, and the aforementioned ham.
His name was Checkers, and he was a black and white Shitzu-Pomeranian mixture. He was a silly dog, full of energy, protective of his food and always willing to make a break from the backyard so he could mark his territory throughout the neighborhood. He was a good dog. Despite the neglect that he recieved from me, one who typically stayed inside, whenever he saw me, he was more than happy to see me. He never seemed angry, he never seemed bitter; he did what so few could have in such a situation, and he continued to love.
As I laid him down, one of his eyes seemed to pop open and watch me. He was in rigor mortis, I knew he was dead, but he seemed to look at me so sadly. I had to begin putting the dirt on him and I couldn't hold back the tears as my mom sat in a chair near me while I buried him. He had once been alive, he had once contained a spark of life, and now here I was, covering his form with dirt. He was dead and by my hand he was made recondite. It was as if he never existed.
I realized that while I buried him that I didn't want anything to die unless it was unavoidable. Capital punishment popped in my mind, and the idea of it truly bothers me now. To take away someone's life, to end them before amends can be made, before they or situations can be changed--it is truly a horrible thing. I ramble now, but the dog deserved something to help affirm his existence. He deserved something, as well, for the neglect he joyfully recieved at my hand.
I'm sorry.