As a diabetic, I have lived with the fact that there is a good chance I may never wake up in the morning. Like most diabetics, I have learned to deal with this fact. However, I never thought about the actual funeral.
Rolling back the clock, look at the three cute puppies and Newt. Buster is on the left, Torpedo is in front, and Buster’s brother (who we didn’t keep) is on the right. This was taken back… geez, so long ago I can’t remember… maybe 2007?
Buster grew up to be a great cowdog. He was more aggressive than Pork Chop. He had only one master and loved Newt more than anything in the world. He was timid, but it took a lot to tired him out.
So the dogs decided to look around the country. The neighbor called from 8 miles away and said they had our dogs. I said they weren’t our dogs, looked out the window to an empty doghouse, and “well, maybe they are!”
Newt picked them up twice. Then one day I was driving to work and saw a black and white dog in the highway ditch- nearly 15 miles from our house. I knew it was Buster, but the car mauled him up and I couldn’t bear to stop.
I called home from the office. “Newt, I think Buster got hit on the highway. Can you go pick him up?” I thought we would take him home and bury him (or at least lay him to rest in the blowout).
The next day, my coworker asked if Newt had “taken care of Buster”.
“If you consider taking off Buster’s collar and throwing him into the ditch ‘taking care of it’, then yes. Now I have to see Buster every day, twice a day, driving to work.”
Note to self: Don’t put Newt in charge of my funeral arrangements. I may end up in the ditch with no collar.
PS- this is not an invitation for a puppy. We have too much going on right now, but maybe later this fall 🙂