Chub Chub

So my Dad brought home the dead dog and we buried it. This is the story.

My Dad found a dead dog on the road on his way to work one morning. He took it to the address on the collar and left it on the porch, since no one was home. He was called a few hours later to come and get the dog, since the people who live in that house are not the owners of the dog. My Dad goes and gets the dog. He puts the dead dog wrapped in a towel in the back of his car where it remains until he arrives home at 7 pm. It was a hot day. I am already tasting stomach acid while I type this.

When he comes home, we all race to the yard to prevent my Dad from burying it in the dirt where my kids dig and play. We find a suitable grave and dig. And struggle. My Dad is barefoot. It’s humid. I ate a mouthful of nats. The kids wont stop touching the dead dog. Fortunately, the accident that killed him did not mangle him, as he had no blood or broken bones, just melted eyes. Ugh. Luke and Cole want to hold the dog. I want to bury my Dad with the dog.

We get the hole dug, and I am very thankful that the dog was a Chihuahua type. We cover the dog, pat down the dirt, and since my Dad seems to be done with his duty, I say some words over the grave: “Chub-Chub…may you rest in peace in our yard, undisturbed. I’m sure someone, somewhere is sad that you wont return tonight, and hopefully you gave a family many good memories.”

Shotzy sniffed and smelled around for a good long time, and I really hoped and prayed that Cole and Seth wouldn’t get some doggy Frankenstein idea and decide to dig the dog up.

Here are the photographic memories, should you be interested:

Cole and Chub-Chub.

Nasty. But he didn’t smell, yet. I would have been OUTTA THERE if it had. I have to draw the line in all this madness somewhere, you know? I honestly was doing this to help my Dad, who insisted on digging a 4 foot deep hole barefoot; and for my boys, who needed to learn that we respect animals, even in death and even if they don’t belong to us. (Respect does not mean like. I still don’t like animals, but I will not tolerate cruelty) Now, I will NEVER make it a habit of picking up road kill, but since my Dad has, I tried to make the best of it. A learning opportunity. Really, I figured I needed to be there to speed things along and keep it all clean, sanitary and NOT freaky. I wanted to make sure my Dad didn’t try something really crazy, like convincing the boys they had to eat the heart, or some other such nonsense.

Shotzy may have put two and two together and realize this whole thing may be in her future. I wish I could lecture her that if she doesn’t stop her damn yapping all day and night, she will be sleeping eternally a foot away from Chub-Chub.

Rest in Peace, Chub-Chub. Don’t haunt us. We treated you better than the driver that killed you. Just remember that, please. And if you have any sway with shutting up my Dad’s dog, I’d appreciate anything you could do about that. Thanks.