In Memoriam: Hank, a good dog
A woman at church lost her dog last week. I use "lost" colloquially; it wasn't misplaced. Hank escaped the yard one night, was discovered missing the next morning, and was found a day or two later. Sadly, it was found by a friend: dead, killed, and left on the side of the road less than 10 miles from the house. Adding insult to injury, the dogs collar had been stripped, two ropes were around the neck, and the animal looked as though it had been dragged behind a vehicle at some rate of speed. The couple found their pet, took it home and buried it in their field. She told me the story this morning, in tears, angry at what the presumed abductors presumably did; angry at herself for putting the dog outside; angry that a human could be so cruel. My tears ran hot as well, personifying, sad at what the dog felt: confused, scared, not understanding how someone who loved him so much was replaced with someone who was not rubbing his belly, giving him a treat, and caring for him ...