Who lets a dog freeze to death? My father
was supposed to put straw in the dog houses.
The shepherd survived, though he was never
quite the same animal, but the beagle
solidified, standing still, his mouth a permanent,
petrified howl. We were two hours away
at my great grandmother’s, maybe for a funeral,
maybe for our annual visit. When my father called,
my mother’s voice held its usual resignation.
It was my four-year-old brother
she was worried about telling. Nothing surprised
the rest of us. Life was just like that, one moment
there was sun, the next, a chill to the bone.
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