DEATH'S DOG GONE DIFFICULTIES

DEATH'S DOG GONE DIFFICULTIES Death is difficult to deal with, be the decedent : family, friend or pet. Memories recur continually within our spirits of these departed loves. My dog Frisky is long-gone, having been put down to die in 1963, born in 1955. He could not adjust to our new home, with its fenced-in yard. He was too used to the boundless woods that abutted an earlier residence, where he could come run, and go as he pleased, without constraints, confines, conditions. Daddy, who was raised with dogs in Mississippi, on their farm, had attempted to maroon Frisky deep in a forest many miles from home, before our move, sensing trouble . I rode with them, him and Frisky, in the car on that sad, sad journey . It did not work! Frisky found his way back home from that deep, dark woods, to our former home! Our reunion was joyful, joyous too. Happy was I to have back my dog! I had picked him from a litter with daddy when I was age four. Daddy named him Frisky for his frolicking , energetic nature . Regrettably that same nature that had enabled him to survive dogfights and to sire pups, now, consigned him to death. The mail man refused to deliver our mail, they said, due to Frisky . He never bit anyone, but would bark , and he was very protective of us . So, yet again, me and daddy and Frisky piled into the car for another ride, a final ride, to the animal shelter known as the dog pound. Frisky seemed to sense that this was it as well. Even so he soldiered on, marching in a maudlin-like manner into the confines of that God-awful place of dogs' demise. I cried! I still cry, just remembering. Death is difficult to deal with, ever.