Someone shot our dogs

We used to cover them up on the cold winter nights

At 10:30 I headed to Stanton to check mail and get rid of garbage. I notices a bunch of vultures about a hundred yards down the road and looking closer saw Gretchen. My heart stopped as I slung to diesel to the side of the road and jumped out. She was dead, and when I looked closer could see that she had been shot. Her body was still warm and there was no rigor mortise setting in so this had happened recently. Up on the road I found a spent 257 Weatherby shell casing. There was no sign of Ben anywhere. I searched the brush at the tank near there with out luck. The brush is as tall as me and thick. Been watching vultures all day long and every time I see them congregating I jump in the truck and run out there to see if it’s Ben.

When I called the police they sent a deputy out. He took down all the information. One of the questions he asked was if we had any enemies here. There are plenty of people who don’t like us, even though they have never talked with us, but I can’t imagine someone who would kill our dogs out of spite or hate. I am so not looking forward to breaking the news to Cherie when she comes home from work. She’s been stressed lately so this won’t help.

Ricardo came and started work on our new bathroom. He tore down part of the wall while I labored to dig a hole to bury Gretchen in. Had to run a hose out to where I decided to bury her in order to soak the ground, enabling me to dig the otherwise rock hard dirt. After he had part of the wall demolished I got out a tape measure and measured doors to see if we could get the tub inside the house. The tub is 32 inches wide and the widest door in the house is 31 inches. Not good. Then there are the internal doors, which are generally smaller, like 29 inches in our bedroom. This is a big problem. We ended up removing a door and the entire frame in order to get it inside.
We call Ben our thousand dollar dog. That's what it cost us after he got hit by a car/truck


Cherie came home. I asked how her day was and she asked how mine was. I dreaded that question and knew it was coming. When I told her that someone shot Gretchen it hit her like a truck, her shoulders just sagged, she grabbed hold of the dresser, and asked me again to make sure she heard right. “I can’t believe people are so mean. Sometimes I hate this place” she said intensely.





I took Cherie out to where Gretchen was buried. There were some pretty yellow flowers I noticed at the side of the garage so I dug them up and planted them on Gretchen’s grave. Linda called and when she heard about it she came over to comfort Cherie. We went out looking for Ben but didn’t find anything but their footprints all over the cotton field. It was their playground. Ben’s footprints are easy to detect as he only has three working legs. Odds are slim he is still alive but we will hope beyond hope. Midnight, the puppy someone dropped off, will be lonely now. I’m debating setting up the kennel again to insure he doesn’t wander at night.

It’s hard. When morning comes I’ll run out hoping to see Ben made it home. The same question Cherie asked is the one I ask too, Why?