Grave nights

We had a thunderstorm tonight. It was the kind of storm that would have sent Paws scurrying under the bed. Storms frightened her. Instead of being under the bed, Paws was in her grave which is near the entrance to my oriental garden. I try not to think about it. The wound caused by her loss is too new. I try to think about other things. When I worked in the yard today, the first day in more than a week that was hospitable to those seeking to be outside, I passed by her grave several times and left roses for her.

My garden is a cemetery. As we chose a location for Paws’ grave, my son B commented that we are running out of room. We have buried three dogs, four cats, two guinea pigs, a frog, and one hundred koi and comets in our yard. Our dog Windsor was the first pet we buried in the woodland garden. His death was unexpected. I couldn’t find him one morning and after searching the house I went outside and found him in the area near the fence appearing to be asleep. As we buried him and said some words over his grave, the bells at the nearby church began to ring as they do at six o’clock every evening. When we buried Cutty Sark, our Scottish Terrier, next to Windsor 10 days later we chose the same time. Every evening I would sit on the bench in the woodland garden , listen to the bells ring, and cry.

I wanted to bury Paws next to her brother Goliath, but the area is filled with roots. Paws is buried in good place. It gets sun in the morning and it’s cool during the heat of the day. A weeping cherry is next to the site and I will plant a hydrangea on top of where she sleeps forever.