We buried the dog just beyond the edge of trees, up behind the telephone pole where we buried Champion and Mittens and New Moon and Wink's first little calico kitten. Kenny dug the hole, and when Dad and Billy got back from the vet, we all put on our coats and went outside and stood in the leaves and trees and talked about our little Bitsy dog... I had held up pretty well so far, but one look at the box they sealed her in, and her little stuffed pound puppy we decided to bury with her, and her old collar they took off her before they took her in back and I basically melted into tears. We're friends with Dr Fisher, we go to church with him, and he said it was hard for him, that he wrapped her in a little pink blanket and put her in the box.

We put the box in the hole. Kenny and Dad took turns shoveling the dirt on top of the box, and then Dad smoothed it out on top. We all went and found stones for the cairn.

Bitsy was thirteen years old, she was our last holdover from Illinois, the last pet that was with us in St Francisville. I remember on moving day, when we packed up the entire house into a moving van and shut her in the yard, because we were going to come back for her and the cats later, and as we drove away she somehow broke out and came chasing down the street, 'you're not going to leave me!', and they stopped the trunk and she jumped twice her height to leap into the back with the boys.

But they all get old, don't they? They get grey around the muzzle, the eyes go milky, the hips and knees get weak...and Bitsy was sick for a long time before we decided that it wasn't fair anymore.