Have you ever dug a grave for a dog?
I woke up at 5am before sunrise,
there to give a dog a proper burial.
I walked out into the fields and chose a spot for her to sleep, next to her parents.
I grabbed a shovel and started digging.
You have to dig 6 feet in order to bury a human. I figured I should dig a hole just as deep,
determined to give a dog a proper burial.
The grass was filled with dew. I could feel them soak through my shoes and envelop my socks.
The land was crying for her. She was born on it on the 7th day of the 7th month of 7th year of the 21st century. The land wept, "I brought her into this world and now, she's back so soon? There, there, I shall embrace her. I shall welcome her back into the fold, into my arms, into the earth from once she came."
I dug and I dug and I dug, until I didn't know if my face was wet with tears or perspiration, until such a thought didn't matter.
I stopped many times to fall onto my knees, weighted by the sheer obesity of grief, the river of my tears that flowed from a fractured heart. It's too much. It's too much. It's too much...but I was...
there to give a dog a proper burial.
Finally, I laid her down and began covering her body with handfuls of soil, then bricks, then bouganvillae flowers.
I wanted the sight of her to linger. But eventually, the ground swallowed her up. I didn't want her to go but the land assured me.
She has returned home, returned to the world of Dreaming.