Don't Forget the Ladder

Dad told me a story last weekend about my great uncle Carroll. He was a man who felt deeply but said little. And while he was mostly stoic, this quiet man could snap. A terrible passion would take over his body. He might beat someone up or destroy property until the energy dissipated. Just as suddenly, his gaze would clear and he’d be left to deal with whatever had happened during the rage. To his credit, he’d always take his lumps with that same stoic grace, even if it meant getting into the back seat of a police car.

As a child, he loved a dog that died unexpectedly, maybe hit by a car? Dad didn’t remember exactly. Most of us can feel that first heartbreak of losing a pet, that wrench of our hearts falling into our stomachs, tears hitting the back of our throats, rage at the world for the tragedy.

My great grandfather, a man not known for his empathy, handed Carroll a shovel and told him to go dig a hole.

Eventually, the family started wondering where Carroll was. The search ended at the graveside. He’d dug that hole so deep that he’d trapped himself. They rescued him with a handy ladder.

On Thursday, my father called to let me know that his beagle, Jake, was in his final decline.

Jake, image courtesy of my brother

Jake latched onto Dad the moment he entered my parents’ home. This energetic pup barked uncontrollably, leading to multiple conversations interrupted by that particular baying that only beagles emit. He wiggled with unrelenting energy. And, when my father moved in with his new wife, Jake made the transition with him and became fast friends with my step-mother’s dog, Spike. They spent hours running around the fenced backyard, barking at birds, playing tag and, as their muzzles have grown gray, sleeping in the sunshine.

The vet had done what he could do for him. Dad called me as he drove to the vet’s office to pick Jake up so he could sleep at home until the end.

Of course, treats and belly rubs and tender moments ensued. When Dad checked on the pup at 2:30am, Jake had passed away.

Dad’s burying Jake today over at the family home.

He thinks the digging will be therapeutic.

I told him to bring a ladder.

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