Best Friend 

by Alexis Smith 

 

 

It was mid August. Vibrant leaves, children on oak trees swayed in the summer breeze, and dirt, warmed by the sun squished beneath my bare feet. My tiny, eight year old voice rang out, breaking the quiet morning that was accompanied by occasional bird chirps.

“Sadie!” I called. “Sadie, come ‘ere girl!”

 

I waited patiently for my 130 pound, overweight, Rottweiler mix to come barreling towards me as she usually does. I started to grow worried when the sound of rusty dog tags jangling together hadn’t reached my ears after a good five minutes.

Momma was making her way towards the garden, wheelbarrow in tow, with her long hair pulled back by a headband.

 

“Momma, where’s Sadie?”

 

Pulling her worn gloves on, she replied with, “I don’t know honey, didn’t she sleep outside last night?”

 

I left, going to begin my search, seeing as Momma wasn’t offering any useful help. At the time, I had thought of it as a treasure hunt, myself as the hunter, and Sadie as the treasure. Discovering her limp body behind our hill of dirt that we liked to turn to mud with the hose, proved to be no treasure, however. I made my way towards her, cautiously, half expecting her to leap up and topple me over, greeting me with her usual sloppy lick to my freckled cheek. This action never came though. Her ears didn’t even make the familiar twitch that would occur when she heard footsteps. I kneeled down and placed my hand on her fat tummy. No response. She was dense and cold, an alien feeling compared to near usual, lively appearance.

 

Dead.

 

The one syllable word was beckoned to the front of my mind. She can’t be dead, I told myself. My best friend can’t die.

 

A nervous giggle passed by my lips at the unrealisticness of the situation. Who’s going to catch frogs with me in the summer? Am I expected to sled by myself in the winter now?

 

From a young age, I was very aware of my dislike towards other people. Antisocial, I suppose you could call it. People are just so selfish, mainly caring for themselves. Dogs are better listeners than humans, and all around better friends. Who’s going to be my friend now? I wondered. Loneliness settled around me. Now I’ll admit, I wasn’t the most popular child, and honestly, I’m still not. Then again, it’s more by choice than just being considered an outcast to others. I just simply don’t enjoy being with the majority of the human race, so I try, at all costs to avoid them. People always let you down, yet dogs do not. Well, unless they die, of course.

 

So there I was, resting my head on my deceased best friend, occasionally whipping my runny nose with the back of my hand, as the morning dew seeped into my princess nightgown. It wasn’t a pretty sight, even slightly morbid, since I was, well, cuddling with a corpse.

 

Sitting up, I slugged my hands down my face, ridding it of runaway tears. Soil clung to my sopped hands. I shakily unclipped her purple collar, slightly weathered from use. Sadie’s identification tag clinked and clanked against the other that confirmed she was rabies free. Her rich eyes stared, but didn’t see.

 

Momma appeared from behind the hill, turning white at the sight before her.

 

“Life really sucks, Momma.” I proclaimed in all seriousness. She made her way over to me, attempting at a hug.

 

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” I assured her, but I wasn’t sure if I really was. Dirt smeared on my face as I wiped more darn tears from my eyes.

 

Momma went off somewhere, most likely to find Daddy and my grandpa to assist in the burying of my only friend. I swatted flies away from Sadie’s mouth.

 

“She wouldn’t try to eat you if you were dead!” I scolded the flies. Although, she probably would have. Sadie had a thing for bugs.

 

An hour or so later, I spotted Daddy driving my grandpa’s excavator over towards us. This is it.

 

She’s really gone.

 

 I breathed deeply, inhaling the tragic reality. Soon, a hole was prepared, and a little after that, Sadie’s fat butt was rolled into it. The thud as her body fell echoed in my ears signifying that this honestly and truly was the absolute end for my dog. I watched as the dirt was placed back into place, and patted down. A small patch of Earth, unruly and lighter in color than the rest, was the only proof of the despairing events of that day. Her burial was rushed. Momma and Daddy had planned an appointment to get all of Momma’s hair chopped off in donation for something you get when you’re sick. Cancer, I believe they called it. I didn’t want Momma’s hair to be cut off. Then again, I didn’t particularly wish for Sadie to die, either.

 

Momma had faint tear trails on her face, as her and Daddy went back inside to continue getting ready. She cries over a lot, so this didn’t really faze me much. I ambled to Momma’s garden, picking a bouquet with varied hues. I replanted the flowers, rootless over Sadie’s makeshift grave. My ignorant eight-year-old mind thought that the flowers would replenish themselves.

 

Life is so disgustingly rushed.

 

 Everyone always has a place to be, constantly. As humans, we seem to have forgotten the importance of life. We surround ourselves with artificial items, acquired by money, rather than love and laughter. I did not want to go along with my parents that day. I would’ve much rather stayed home to mope around, and mourn my beloved dog. I now realize, however, that no matter what, life goes on. It continues whether you’re ready for it to, or not.

 

 

Sadie’s bright, purple collar, now pale lavender sits around another dog’s neck now. Lacey, a Labrador retriever, much lighter in color, and a lot lighter in weight tugs on the leash, her more half dragging me, than walking. Lacey isn’t any Sadie, but that’s just how life is. When I look at the collar that used to adorn Sadie’s neck, I don’t see her death, but rather the memories that her life provided my childhood with. I see the world, and its relentless spin.