Scorch

May 1, 2002 - July 12, 2008

For if the hound be well remembered, if sometimes she leaps through your dreams, actual as in life, eyes kindling, laughing, begging, it matters not where that hound sleeps. On a hill where the wind is unrebuked and the trees are roaring, or beside a stream she knew in puppyhood, or somewhere in the flatness of a patureland where most exhilarating horses graze. It is one to a hound, and all one to you, and nothing is gained and nothing lost - if memory lives.
But there is one best place to lay a hound to rest...
If you bury her in this place, she will come to you when you call, come to you over the grim, dim frontiers of death, and down the well-remembered path and to your side again. And though you may call a dozen living dogs to heal, they shall not growl at her nor resent her coming, for she belongs there.
People may scoff at you, who see no lightest blade of grass bent by her footfall, who hear no whimper, people who have never really had a hound. Smile at them for you shall know something that is hidden from them.
The one best place to bury a good hound,
is in the heart of her master...