In Memory

This was the second time I came home from school, and it still upset me when my dog didn't greet me at the door. See, this past August, the Saturday I was packing to leave for school, my dog, Arrow, passed away. He was at least 10 years old, with his black fur turning gray as he aged. Although he was arthritic and had a limp (a result of fighting a car and losing) he always greeted me at the door when I came home. He seemed to love to lay around outside saving his energy for when he saw someone drive up the driveway. Then he would use all his energy to greet the person, but it was never enough just to walk up to them, he would always have to run up to them and start licking them, whimpering at them to pet him. And that is what he did whenever I showed up at the house, no matter how late it was when I pulled up he would jump up and be the first to greet me. But not anymore. No matter how many times I yelled at him to shut up when I walked in the door, the first time I didn't see or hear him it hurt. He was always there to meet me at the door, always, but not this time. Coming home for the holidays to see the family, and the family dog wasn't there. When I walked into the door I was looking for Arrow to pet, but alas, he wasn't there. The night he died I went to the old farm and dug a grave for him. With help from my grandmother I dug his grave under the trees behind the baseball field. No matter how long we played sports on that field, he would lie under the tree and wait for us to be finished, so it was only right that we should bury him there. It would have been great to bury him next to our other dog, Beau, but without the property rights we couldn't bury him there, so this was the next best place, a place he enjoyed when he was alive. It's gonna be awhile before I won't expect a greeting when I walk in the door.