CROSSING A BUSY HIGHWAY

As my wife and I were nearing home, I looked to my left from my place behind the wheel, and saw the poor, unfortunate thing lying in the median. A large grey dog. Apparently dead.

As I navigated the last couple hundred yards, I had already decided to let my wife off, to retrieve a shovel, and drive back “to the scene of the crime.” I simply would not leave that poor pooch to the ‘elements.’ (I’m sure I needn’t go into detail here).

I was forced to park alongside a small housing development about a hundred yards from where the hapless animal lay, to walk along the sidewalk, and across two of the four lanes of traffic.

As I reached the animal it was obvious that he had managed to get halfway across the busy highway, and had apparently been clipped by a vehicle; just as he reached the median. Close, but not close enough. However, there were absolutely no signs of trauma, or blood on his body. At least not on the one side of his anatomy.

As I proceeded to dig a hole, just feet away from the left lane of traffic, a car pulled over into the median strip, a man stepped from the driver’s side of the vehicle, and walked back to where I was engaged in my labor.

He was a tall black man, and he spoke with a Haitian accent.

“Hello bro! You must have had the same thought I did. I saw the big critter laying there, and thought I would see if he was injured.”

I assured Louis that no, he was, regrettably, very dead, indeed.

Pt. 2

With this, I remarked that the hapless hound looked like he might have possessed a rather genial personality in life. And we both indicated how close we were to our respective homes. After talking for a couple of minutes, I told Louis that I would finish the task, but, “I’m gonna let you bury the next one that dies on this stretch of road.” We both laughed, (though I’m doubtful our furry friend would have found it very funny). And just before the young man took his leave, I said,

“Louis, I’m a Christian, and I have read in scripture about the presence of animals in heaven. I believe I will see this big grey guy in heaven one day.”

With this, the tall fellow shook my hand, and walked back to his car. In the meantime, I continued with the task at hand, and managed to dig down about two and a half feet; before striking much harder soil and some rocks. Not exactly the standard six feet, nor anywhere close, but I supposed it would have to do. Now to get on with moving the body.

As much as I pitied the poor thing, and though he hadn’t been dead for more than half a day, the ‘aroma’ was already strengthening, and I was not about to touch his already decaying flesh. (I was, frankly, surprised that the buzzards had not yet convened to do the work for which they are so well known).

Having done the best I could, I placed the point of the shovel under the rapidly-stiffening body of my furry friend, and attempted to transfer him into his shallow grave. I discovered he was heavier than I thought, and had to “put my back into it.” Now, the ole boy was moving towards his final destination. And now he lay on top of the large black neoprene bag that I had spread in the bottom of his shallow grave.

Pt. 3

At this point I spoke to the furry critter.

“Hey boy. I’m sorry you didn’t have the chance to live out the remainder of your life, but I’m gonna do the next best thing for you. I claim you for God and heaven, and I will plan to see you there one day.”

Bending over, I picked up three white plastic garbage bags, and prepared to spread them over the poor pooch’s body. And now I began to shovel the earth over the large grey beast. I had to be careful digging the grave, and covering it back up since I was so close to the rapidly approaching cars. And I could only wonder what some of these folks thought I was burying on the median of the road, (and whether anyone might conceivably call 911, and report a suspicious old man in the process of shoveling dirt into a hole in the middle of a busy highway).

Be that as it may, I finished my regretful task, and walked around on the newly turned soil to make the surface a bit more substantial. Now, I grabbed my shovel, cast a parting glance at the final resting place of my recently deceased friend, and made my way across two lanes of traffic.

And then it occurred to me. The poor critter deserved a name. At least a name by which I might remember him. Then it came to me. “Roadie.” However, that name quickly metamorphosed into “Rowdy.” But what proper gentleman goes around with only one name? And whispering aloud, I found myself saying, “I’ll call you ‘Rowdy McDonald’ (and) “I certainly don’t mind lending you my surname.”

Reaching my car, I dropped the shovel on the floor below the back seat, sat down behind the wheel, and drove the couple hundred yards which separated me from home. And then it occurred to me. I would create an online memorial page for my unfortunate friend.

Pulling up a website to which I have contributed countless human memorial pages, I entered the precious pooch’s newly acquired name, and the place and date of death. Having scoured the internet for a photo of a canine which most closely matched the dog upon whom I had bequeathed the name of Rowdy, I added a picture to the memorial page.

Pt. 4

At this point I began to type Rowdy’s bio; at least as much as I, or virtually anyone else could possibly know about his bio.

Rowdy McDonald died just outside of Winter Haven, Florida on May 17, 2019. He was someone's beloved dog, and looked very healthy, but had no collar or tag.

Unfortunately, he was at least momentarily lost, and made a bad decision to cross a well-traveled four-lane road. While I did not know "Rowdy," as a Christian I am convinced that there will be animals in the kingdom.

As a result, I gave him a first name, and lent him my last, interred him right where I discovered him, and claimed him for heaven. I expect to see Rowdy there one day.

And because I am convinced I will see Rowdy, and, for that matter, my Princess, and Buddy, and Lucy and Queenie again one day, I added the best-known of all memorial poems.

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sun on ripened grain,

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die.

See you again soon, ole boy. Romp, and run for all you’re worth. You’ve finally found your way home.

by William McDonald, PhD. Copyright pending. 2019

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