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Summer was a beautiful dog in her youth. She had golden fur, soulful eyes and a sweet disposition. Age crept up on her suddenly, it gradually became more and more difficult for her to get around, but she never quite lost that puppy spirit. She seemed confused that she was no longer as mobile and everyone in the house knew she was in pain, but no one was quite ready to give her up, to put her down.

I was eight months pregnant with my first child, and still living in my mother-in-law's house. Summer went swiftly, she died on her favorite spot in the family room. I was the one who found her. She was a mere shadow of what she had once been, skin and bones, matted fur. At the end of her life she had fallen down the stairs just about every day because she was a loyal, watchful, protective friend and wanted to alway be near her people. Tears entered my eyes and there was a choke in my throat when I called Jon over.

He checked over her body and gave me a mournful look. She really was gone, and then he went upstairs to get his parents. I stayed where I was, Gizmo, our other dog, had just come to say "Hello" to Summer. He nudged her and tried to get her to wake up and then went to the opposite corner where he sat down and stared at her.

I heard yelling from upstairs and loud sobbing. A few minutes later, my father-in-law and Jon came down the stairs. They lifted her body and carried her outside. They put her on the wheelbarrow and grabbed shovels.

"Isn't she going to say goodbye?" I asked them.

"No, she's upstairs crying." Jon replied.

"Are you okay?" I turned to him and gently rubbed his back. He squinted in the sun,

"I'm fine." That tone of voice meant he wasn't. I started to go with them to dig the grave, over in the back corner of the property but Jon ushered me back to the house.
"You can't dig a hole, you're pregnant, and besides, my mom needs you."
They dug the whole alone. Gizmo came to watch and he was clearly confused by what they were doing.

When they came back that evening Gizmo waited by the door for his golden furred friend to come home. It was pitiful to see. Jon's mom still hadn't been anywhere near Summer's grave. She was clearly heartbroken from the loss of her dearest pet.

Two years went by. Jon and I moved into our own place. We now had a beautiful little girl. My mother-in-law still would not go to the back of her property or even talk about Summer. There was now a little grass covered mound covering Summer. It was an eyesore on the beautifully landscaped property and my mother-in-law's avoidance of the spot had become a family joke.

One day while we were over at her house for dinner, I took my daughter to the backyard and watched her as she played outside. She went straight for the mound with her toy bucket and shovel and began digging. Jon's mom came outside and walked over to my little girl, speechless. My daughter took a handful of dirt, presented it to her grandma and said,

"Dog." It was a normal thing for her to do. Dogs were her favorite animal and she often picked up grass or dirt clods and called them her 'dogs', but her grandmother had never heard her do this before. My mother-in-law put her hand to her heart, then took my daughter's hand and led her away from the mound.

I went inside, knowing that my daughter was in good hands with her grandmother. I was surprised when they didn't come back right away. I looked out the window and I saw them over by the mound. My daughter was helping her grandma plant seeds over Summer's grave. I smiled at the picturesque scene.

Later, I asked my daughter what she had done with her grandma that day, she replied,
"I plant pretty flowers for Summer."

Sure enough, the following year, the grave was covered in sunflowers.

Learn more about this author, Amber Larkins.
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