Speaking of Dogs...

I couldn't help but think of this story while grieving over Molly, our dog.

This story is included in a book I wrote, "Out on a Limb of the Family Tree". Keep in mind it's written in the language of Appalachia, but you won't struggle if you just go with the flow.

The conversation takes place between Missouri and her sister, Kizzie. They are in their late eighties. The scene takes place about 35 years ago.

Kizzie shook her head, grinning. “Do you remember when the Reverend James Folsom got called up to the Clemmons’ household? Old man Clemmons sent word and told him to git thar quick, so the reverend got in his old truck and flew up thar to see what the matter was. Old man Clemmons met him thar on the front porch and told Preacher Folsom that Mizriz Clemmons’ dog had died two days ago, and she had him laid out in the parlor on the couch, waitin’ fer the Lord to raise him up.”

          “Land sakes! I don’t recall hearin’ about this, Kizzie. What in the world did Preacher Folsom do?” Missouri sounded shocked.

          “Well sir, he took hisself a deep breath and entered thur house. Thar laid that old dog with a blanket and a sheet up to his nose, just like he’s in a hospital or suhum. Preacher Folsom says, ‘Mizriz Clemmons, I understand yur dog died.’ And she says, ‘No, God told me He was gonner raise him up, and I’m a’waitin’.” Kizzie shook her head. “Preacher Folsom ast her would it be all right with her if he called somebody to check the dog to see if he was dead, and she said that would be perfectly all right with her.

          “So, Preacher Folsom, he gits on his two way radio and calls the EMT’s and tells old Roam Patterson to git thar quick with a shovel and a stethy-scope. Roam says ‘I beg yur pardon?’ and the preacher says ‘You heared me and make it snappy!’ Here comes Roam in the fire truck with the lights a’flashin’ and the si-reen a’blarin’, screamin’ up the hill, and comin’ to a screechin’ halt in front of the house. He gits outta that truck in a hurry.  Preacher Folsom meets him at the door, explainin’ the situation quick like. Roam approaches the couch, and pulls the covers back, gentle like, looks in the dogs eyes, and puts the stethy-scope on the dogs chest and listens. Then he slowly shakes his head and says to Mizriz Clemmons ‘I shore am sorry to tell you this, ma’am, but that dog is dead.’”

          “Oh, lord, what did she do then?” Missouri asked.

          “She said okay, they’d have to bury him. So, she sends all the men folk out in the yard to find a decent burial place. They pick a spot under a bloomin’ Lilac bush. Preacher Folsom told Roam to git the shovel and start diggin’. Just as they had a hole big enough, Mizriz Clemmons made ‘em stop and she run back in the house and got this beautiful quilt to wrap up the dog. Preacher Folsom says ‘But that’s a good quilt!’ and Mizriz Clemmons, she says, ‘And that was a good dog.’

          “They bury that dog in the three hundurd dollar quilt, and then Mizriz Clemmons turns to the preacher, and ast him to say a few words over the grave. He did.” Kizzie finished with a satisfied look on her face.

          “Reckon what Mizriz Clemmons did after that?” Missouri wondered.

          “Well, she went out and got herself another dog, what else?”

          What else, indeed.

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