Sunday, July 30, 2006

Bad News From the Mansion

We had a tragedy today. HH left through the kitchen door around
10:30 to go buy some watch batteries and browse through the
flea markets. At 10:32 he came in the front door, asking where
the kids were. I told him they were in #1 son's room, fighting over
some Little Debbie Cosmic Brownie crumbs. Not to eat them.
Fighting over who had to dispose of them. HH said, "You can't
let them come outside. I ran over Cubby."

What was his plan, to keep the boys in the Mansion the rest of
their lives? I told him he had to break the news to them. HH went
in the bedroom, and #2 son came out. So HH only told #1. He
didn't have much of a reaction. HH came out, #2 went back in,
and HH said, "I have to get the gun." Yeah, Diva, you know
what I'm talkin' 'bout. I went to talk to the boys to distract them,
because the crime scene is about 10 feet from #1's room. I never
did hear a shot.

#2 son came back to the living room, chatting away about finding
gold (he's quite the little optimist, but I don't think he is that lucky
to find gold in these parts). I told him I had some bad news, and
explained about Cubby. That boy cried for two hours. OK, so
I cried, too. And I didn't even like that dog. I'm the one who was
ready to give him away. Perhaps we should have.

I told the boys to stay in the house, and stepped out on the front
porch to check on HH's progress. I saw his back walking down
to the side of the house by the "collector truck". HH was carrying
a Save-A-Lot box, and all I could see was Cubby's tail sticking
out. HH had his work cut out for him, as the ground is dry and
packed, and the heat index 105. Grizzly and Ann went with HH,
and laid in the shade near the grave site. They had that sad doggy
look about them.

I asked HH if he was going to put a rock on top of it, and he said,
"Yeah. After I find a rock." I'm sure there are some down by the
creek. I told him that Ann would dig up Cubby the minute he was
done with the burial if he didn't cover the grave. She has a hole
half-way to China under the camper. HH put the upside down
wheelbarrow on it, and will get a rock when the ground settles.
He took the bloody box to the BARn to burn it. Grizzly walked
all the way around the grave and rolled in the dirt. Ann hid under
the camper in her China tunnel.

HH said when he went outside, Ann came out from under the
truck. Cubby usually comes out, too. HH started the truck, let
it run for a minute, and backed up. He heard a yelp. When he
got out, he saw that he'd run over Cubby's head. HH said at
first he thought he'd just throw him in the back of the truck and
get rid of him on the way to town, and tell the boys he just
disappeared. Then he felt guilty that Cubby wouldn't be buried.
Hmm...how guilty would he have felt every time the boys said,
"Cubby still didn't come home today"? Poor kids. Poor Cubby.
He never was the sharpest knife in the drawer, that pitiful mutt.
It took him forever to learn how to go up and down the porch
steps. Now he is gone, and we miss his stupid ways.

I let #2 out to look at the grave, but he didn't want to get off the
porch. We talked about when we found Cubby on that rainy night
in February, and how he had everything a stray dog could have
dreamed of while he lived with us.

HH told him that we can't replace Cubby, but maybe we can get
another dog. I am worried about #1 son's lack of emotion. He
was their playmate, the one who always got out of the large
SUV halfway down the driveway so the dogs could run out
and jump on him. He was the one who went out to pet them
several times a day, and gave them rawhide chew toys. Which
they ate in about 5 minutes. He was the only one who could
catch Cubby. Also, I worry about Ann. She was never far
from Cubby. If he was out of her sight, she was nervous and
went to find him. She bullied and bossed him from morning
to night. They were a team. A team of dumb, porch-chewing,
phone-line-digging, plastic-eating, yapping troublemakers.
That's why HH said I couldn't give Cubby away--Ann would
pine for him.

I don't know if Ann and Grizzly will accept a new dog. We
might look for a pound puppy next week. We'll see if Ann
will bond with Grizzly like she did with her brother Cubby.

And now I must interrogate HH about where he put that pistol,
and make him show me that it is not loaded.

9 comments:

LanternLight said...

I am worried about #1 son's lack of emotion.

People grieve in different ways.
To me, when someone passes on, they leave a shell behind. I celebrate the good times we had together.
(that's enough SNAG stuff for one day).

scrapper said...

bummer... my dog of almost 17 yrs died July 1st. Everyone in the family cried a little except me. It wasn't that I was not upset...I was...I think I just internalize things too much. Maybe that's how #1 is handling it.

Sorry for your loss and I hope you find another puppy to love!

Redneck Diva said...

Awwwwww...poor Cubby!! Poor HillbillyKids! Poor everyone!

In times like these you need my Mother in Law. When Joyce died, she took the kids out to the grave, read scripture from the Song of Solomon and had them sing a song. She's quite the funeral organizer, I gotta say. We just all stood bawling at the grave, but she added those certain elements that laid our Joyce to rest.

Oops, wait. It was the next morning that Joyce was gone. Grave robbed, I say! So....nevermind.

Chickadee said...

Oh wow. How horrible. I'm so sorry that that happened, but am glad that your boys (or you) didn't see it happen. I think that would have made things worse.

Take your time with getting a new puppy. You may not be as ready as you think you are just yet.

#1 son will grieve in his own way. Shock is a pretty strong thing...he may be in shock yet.

http://www.danno.org/blogs

Hillbilly Mom said...

Lantern,
Maybe. He cried when his kitten died, but he was the one who found it. He didn't see Cubby.

Scrapper,
17 years. That's a long time! Our other dog, who we got from the Humane Society, is 8. He is turning gray and moving slower. I don't think he'll make it to 17.

Diva,
HH promised to make a headstone for Cubby and Gizmo the kitten. Thank the Gummi Mary neither one has been dug up yet.

Chick,
I didn't want to look out and see him. I waited until HH was digging the grave. That's why I kept the kids inside, too, so they could remember Cubby alive and not dead.

deadpanann said...

Death blows. Whenever my dad came in and got a pistol and told us not to come outside, we all knew what time it was.

When I was a kid I named my dog Pinky. She was black, but "p" was the letter of the week at preschool, and I liked pink. She got pregnant and my mom squished her and her puppies in the driveway. I was in the car. Then we took her to the vet and the vet tried to save her, but couldn't. So she brought us the dog and the puppies in a black garbage bag and we buried them behind my grandma's house. I don't think it scarred me or anything but it definitely shaved away a little layer of my childlike innocence. It's gotta go sometime though. Better through a lost pet than something truly tragic.

Hillbilly Mom said...

Miss Ann,
As a child, I had a dog named Fuzzy who ran away. He ran away down the street two blocks to live with a boy a year older than me who was despised by everyone at school for being a bully. That hurt me worse than if that darn dog had died.

Stewed Hamm said...

I had a number of pets pass on when I was a kid. I saw my dog suffering from a stroke that left his hind legs paralyzed, and that really spooked me. Later on, all my pets seemed to die whenever I was away.
Trip to Grandmas? Dead rabbit.
Week at summer camp? Dead cat.

There's just no good way for a kid to lose a pet. Even if it was an annoying little shit, there's still an empty space where it used to be.

Hillbilly Mom said...

Stewington,
I'm still not over my dear departed Cubby. I have to see Ann mourning for him every day under the camper. That's the saddest part. She doesn't know what to do without him.