Here I was ensconced in my new home with my little dog, Sniffer. He lived in my room upstairs and only went outside with me before and after school. He slept on my bed during the day and I’m sure he enjoyed the peace and quiet in the fortress that was my room.
One day I returned home and went upstairs calling him to let him know I was home. He usually would run to the door and greet me in happy anticipation, tail wagging non-stop. I heard nothing and wearily opened the door. He was fast asleep on my bed, or so I thought.
I went over to the bed to pet him and realized he had died! He had died sometime during the day when I was at school and was all by himself.
I immediately ran to the phone and called my dad hysterically crying. Dad was able to decipher my message and said
I’ll be right there.
He came home and came upstairs to comfort me and talk about what we should do with Sniffer’s body. He found a shoebox, and we put his little body in it and went out to the backyard. Dad dug a little grave and we buried him together after saying what a good dog and companion he had been.
My dad once again came through, knew exactly what to say and do and helped me through a difficult time. As far as Mother goes, she never asked about Sniffer. I guess out of sight, out of mind for her. Sniffer’s claim to fame is he is just like Elvis Presley, buried in the backyard.
My love for dogs has continued into my adult years and I have seldom been without the comfort of a four legged furry friend or two.