'I think there's an answer for that, too,' Papa said. 'You see, Billy, your mother and I had decided not to separate you from your dogs. We knew how much you loved them. We decided that when we moved to town we'd leave you here with your grandpa for a while. He needs help anyway. But I guess the Good Lord didn't want that to happen. He doesn't like to see families split up. That's why they were taken away.'
I knew my father was a firm believer in fate. To him everything that happened was the will of God, and in his Bible he could always find the answers.
Papa could see that his talk had had very little effect on me. With a sorrowful look on his face, he sat down and said, 'Now let us give thanks for our food and for all the wonderful things God has done for us. I'll say a special prayer and ask Him to help Billy.'
I barely heard what Pap?i had to say.
During the meal, I could tell that no one was enjoying the food. As soon as it was over, I went to my room and lay down on the bed.
Mama came in. 'Why don't you go to bed,' she said, 'and get a good night's sleep. You'll feel better tomorrow.'
'No, I won't, Mama,' I said. 'I'll have to bury Little Ann tomorrow.'
'I know,' she said, as she turned my covers down. 'I'll help if you want me to.'
'No, Mama,' I said, 'I don't want anyone to help. I'd rather do it all by myself.'
'Billy, you're always doing things by yourself,' Mama said. 'That's not right. Everyone needs help some time in his life.'
'I know, Mama,' I said, 'but, please, not this time. Ever since my dogs were puppies, we've always been together-just us three. We hunted together and played together. We even went swimming together.
'Did you know, Mama, that Little Ann used to come every night and peek in my window just to see if I was all right? I guess that's why I want to be by myself when I bury her.'
'Now say your prayers and go to sleep. I'm sure you'll feel better in the morning.'
I didn't feel like saying any prayers that night. I was hurting too much. Long after the rest of the family had gone to bed, I lay staring into the darkness, trying to think and not able to.
Some time in the night I got up, tiptoed to my window, and looked out at my doghouse. It looked so lonely and empty sitting there in the moonlight. I could see that the door was slightly ajar. I thought of the many times I had lain in my bed and listened to the squeaking of the door as my dogs went in and out. I didn't know I was crying until I felt the tears roll down my cheeks.
Mama must have heard me get up. She came in and put her arms around me. 'Billy,' she said, in a quavering voice, 'you'll just have to stop this. You're going to make yourself sick and I don't think I can stand any more of it.'
'I can't, Mama,' I said. 'It hurts so much, I just can't. I don't want you to feel bad just because I do.'
'I can't help it, Billy,' she said. 'Come now and get back in bed. I'm afraid you'll catch cold.'
After she had tucked me in, she sat on the bed for a while. As if she were talking to the darkness, I heard her say, 'If only there were some way I could help-something I could do.'
'No one can help, Mama,' I said. 'No one can bring my dogs back.'
'I know,' she said, as she got up to leave the room, 'but there must be something-there just has to be.'
After Mama had left the room, I buried my face in my pillow and cried myself to sleep.
The next morning I made another box. It was smaller than the first one. Each nail I drove in the rough pine boards caused the knot in my throat to get bigger and bigger.
My sisters came to help. They stood it for a while, then with tears streaming, they ran for the house.
I buried Little Ann by the side of Old Dan. I knew that was where she wanted to be. I also buried a part of my life along with my dog.
Remembering a sandstone ledge I had seen while prowling the woods, I went there. I picked out a nice stone and carried it back to the graves. Then, with painstaking care, I carved their names deep in its red surface.
