THE DAY MY DOG DIED – PANEL 2

The day my dog died, they – for I wasn’t there – brought her back from the vet in a comforter that was blue and red. They put her on the living room couch, which is yellow, and waited a while, for they did know what to do but held on and bit the time that was passing, hoping, I can only guess, that those sealed eyes would break open and it was a miracle and all that would follow. Then, some time gone by, they picked her up and carried her down, out the back door of the basement into the garden, laid her gently onto the green grass and started shoveling to make a hole; they put her inside, wrapped in nothing because nature was back to nature, and then, I think, with their hands began piling dirt on top of her body and a plant that was someplace nearby was uprooted and replanted over her, with a little other flower, which was pink, and another one, which was orange, and yet another, which was white and light-blue. It was the beginning of June, and the ground was wet, the earth dark brown almost black, and the sun was shining – and all of these colors were resplendent.

The Day My Dog Died (Panel 3)