Jack was laid to rest today at 12 p.m. sharp. It was a small service in the Peterson’s backyard. There were folding chairs. Jack’s pinewood box was decorated with white flowers and his favorite chew toys.
It was an exemplary summer day. The East Texas sky was powder blue. A suffocating 103 degrees. It didn’t look like a day for a funeral. It looked like a day to sit beside an inground pool and guzzle something cold and potent.
Most attendees were neighbors. They were all ages. Some brought refreshments. Others brought pound cakes or cold salads. The whole affair was pretty simple. No frills. Lots of food.
The way Jack would have wanted it.
People took turns sharing memories before the group. An 8-year-old girl cried when she delivered hers.
“Jack used to always steal my food. If I turned away, even for a little bit, my food was gone. My chips, my sandwich or whatever. He ate it. He was so cute.”
“Oh, I remember when Jack escaped once,” said a neighbor woman with grayish
hair and Jackie-O sunglasses.
“I was working in my yard and I saw him fly by. I knew he wasn’t supposed to be out, so my husband and I chased him for a whole mile. When I found him, Jack was digging in a trashcan. That’s my main memory of Jack. Running free.”
A 15-year-old girl was lightly weeping when she shared hers, nervously reading from a page.
“When I was child, Jack saved my life. I fell into my grandma’s swimming pool when I was 4, and he started barking and making noise, and my mom came out and rescued me. I could have died if it wasn’t for Jack.”
That one got everyone sniffing.
Especially Mom.
Mom was closest to Jack. The irony here is, Mom never wanted a dog. She didn’t even like dogs.
That all changed one afternoon when…