Old Brown Dog

...for Ralph McTell He was my closest friend and confidante for over eighteen years. I called him simply Brown Dog. From a puppy to the present he was always by my side. Chasing rabbits through the pasture or the sticks that I would throw, he was the essence of vitality and joy. As he aged, he would lie down at my feet, an Old Brown Dog, his horizon now my yard, limping, riddled with arthritis, he was clearly in great pain. Today would be the day. With a heavy heart, my shotgun cradled in my arm, I tugged gently on his leash and we headed to the pasture where in better days he frolicked, free as a bird. The sky was overcast as I settled him to ground. "Goodbye, my friend," I whispered, as I went to pull the trigger. But then suddenly a flash of fur! a rabbit dashed from hiding and darted into view. My companion broke free! bounding toward his prey, his pain all but forgotten. As he closed in, he took one final leap... and fell in a heap to the earth, still and silent. He had died the way he wanted, on his own terms, free again, at last. I buried him there, and wept. I returned to his grave with a granite headstone which bore the inscription: "To my Brown Dog, best friend and confidante, thanks for the memories. Rest In Peace. 1994-2011.