So Long My Friend

When my parent's house burned to the ground in May, I inherited my father's dog, Bill Bob. Bill Bob was fifteen years old and he was featured occasionally on this blog. Bill Bob's stay with us was temporary until my father could have a privacy fence built at their new home. In the meantime, my father would come over everyday after work and spend about an hour with Bill Bob to make sure he knew my dad hadn't forgot him.

Sometime between last night and this morning, Bill Bob was struck by a car and died. My neighbor, who has become very fond of the dog, knocked on my door and shared the bad news with me. My heart broke for my father. He loved this dog. So I got Billy to go check and make sure it was really Bill Bob although I knew deep down it was. As soon as I got the confirmation call, I threw on some clothes and headed to my dad's business.

"Hey dad...I have some bad news." I said in a quiet voice I didn't even recognize. I looked him in the eye, praying that he would guess so I wouldn't have to say the words.

His face instantly grew serious. "What is it?!" Still, I waited.

"Bill Bob's dead," I informed him in a near whisper. "He got run over by a car. Billy's going to get him now and bury him for you."

"Don't tell me that! Don't tell me that!" my father demanded, pacing back and forth. "I don't want to see him...I can't see him. It'll kill me."

My mother was in the background crying softly before becoming angry. "What was his tail doing out of the fence anyway?!" She asked no one in particular. Bill Bob was an escape artist. There was no fence that could keep him in, despite our numerous attempts. Our yard looked like Sanford and Son from all the things we had put in front of the fence to keep him in.

My father sat down on some boxes, buried his face in his hands...and cried like a baby. "Well, I guess my boy's gone. I gotta move on now. He was my best friend but I can't let it get me down. I gotta move on. But I'm through with dogs. There'll never be another one like him." I looked at his hands. They were soaking wet. I put my arm around him and waited for him to gain his composure. We sat together for a few minutes before my father took a deep breath.

He picked up the phone and called Billy and requested that Bill Bob be buried where he was born...the empty lot where my parents house once stood on the hill a few short months ago. He said he wanted him taken 'home'.