I also buried a part of my life along with my dog. Remembering a sandstone ledge I had seen while prowling the woods, I went there.
I picked out a nice stone and carried it back to the graves. Then, with painstaking care, I carved their names deep in its red surface.
As I stood looking at the two graves, I tried hard to understand some of the things my father had told me,
but I couldn’t—I was still hurting and still had that empty feeling.
I went to Mama and had a talk with her. “Mama,” I asked, “do you think God made a heaven for all good dogs?”
“Yes,” she said, “I’m sure He did.” “Do you think He made a place for dogs to hunt?
You know—just like we have here on our place—with mountains and sycamore trees, rivers and cornfields, and old rail fences?
Do you think He did?” “From what I’ve read in the Good Book, Billy,” she said, “He put far more things up there than we have here.
Yes, I’m sure He did.” I was thinking this over when Mama came up to me and started tucking my shirt in.
“Do you feel better now?” she asked. “It still hurts, Mama,” I said, as I buried my face in her dress, “but I do feel a little better.”
“I’m glad,” she said, as she patted my head. “I don’t like to see my little boy hurt like this.”
Chapter - XX
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