Hard to Say Goodbye

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Seven year old Jed Curry sat cross-legged on the ground in front of a freshly piled mound of dirt shaded by the long branches of a large oak tree. The hole had been filled hours ago, the eulogies spoken, simple mementos tossed gently into the grave. Those in attendance had long since drifted away to resume their day to day lives. But Jed couldn't bring himself to leave his dearest friend, his life long faithful companion.

Seth and Rachel Curry stood on the porch, Seth's hand gently resting on his wife's shoulder, as they watched their youngest son, the only son still at home. The older two Curry boys were off somewhere far away, fighting a war on lands they had never before ventured to or seen.

Behind them they heard the gentle creek of the screen door as Grandpa Curry emerged from the cabin. Grandpa Curry was a large, stocky man, still at least an inch taller than his son. In his late sixties, he had a shock of thick,white, unruly hair on his head, and a thick, white mustache that tapered down along each side of this mouth. Thick wrinkles were etched into his forehead and under his eyes. His skin was permanently tanned and weathered from sun baked summers spent in the fields. Misshapen fingers and stiff, swollen knees bore the brunt of his chronic arthritis, and he carried a cane, though seldom surrendered to it's use.

"Still just sitting there?" Grandpa Curry asked as he came to stand behind Seth and Rachel to catch a glimpse of young Jed who was oblivious to their presence.

"I'm worried about him, Seth," Rachel said. "He takes things so hard."

"I'll go have a talk with him," Seth assured him.

"If you don't mind son, I think this calls for a grandpa's wisdom. Let me have a talk with the boy."

"You sure, Pa?"

A wise smile crossed the old man's face. "You'll understand when that boy out there has his own children. There are things in life that are only meant to be shared between a boy and his grandpa."

"I'll bring a stool down for you," Seth told his father.

Grandpa Curry nodded and made his way down the steps and across the yard. "You mind if an old man sits a while and pays his respects?" he asked Jed.

Without looking up, Jed shook his head, and Grandpa Curry waited while Seth brought him a stool, laid a gentle hand on Jed's shoulder, then made his way back up to the porch.

"I remember the day your Pa brought old Custer home, barely teat weaned, and them razor sharp puppy teeth ready to chew anything he could find. Your Pa had wanted a dog for rabbit hunting, but he brung home a mongrel bird dog instead."

Jed listened intently but never moved, and never took his eyes off the pile of dirt.

"I never seen the liter, but judging from the size of that pup, I'd stand to reason he was the runt. You and your Pa are so much alike in that respect, you wrap your wings around the weakest, then you set your sites on making them the strongest."

"Custer weren't never weak, Grandpa."

The old man smiled knowing the boy was listening. "Oh as a pup he was. Your pa had to bottle feed him for the first couple of weeks. That boy just didn't want to leave the teat. Guess he knew a good thing when he saw it."

Jed reached up and wiped his nose with the back of his hand, then shifted his weight slightly on the ground.

"But your Pa worked with him every day, and your brothers did too. James has always had a way with animals, same as you, boy. I swear you can hear em talking to you."

Jed nodded. He did bond easily with animals and he knew exactly what his grandfather meant about being able to communicate with them.

"Custer had just turned three the summer you was born. Your Ma didn't want a dog in the house with a brand new baby. But that dog found a way in at least once every day, and always when you was napping. He'd sneak in and lay himself down right beside your crib. I think he liked the smell of a baby as much as anybody. Anyway, if your Ma walked in and saw him laying there, she'd get all a tizzy. She'd grab the broom and open the front door and then start shouting and taking swipes at poor Custer till she was able to swoosh him out the door. All that nose woke you every time and you'd start hollering at the top of your lungs. Your pa and brothers would all come running from the barn or the fields and your Ma would scold every one of of em, like it was their fault that dog had taken such a likin to you."

Jed had heard the story a hundred times before, but this time, it somehow took on a deeper meaning for him.

"By the time you was two, you and Custer were inseparable. You was never mean to him, never tried to pull his tail or ride him like a pony, and I never once saw him try to snap at you. But let some stranger come near you and that dog would let out a growl that would surely scare a mountain lion. And if you was ailing, Old Custer would never leave the foot of your bed. It's like the two of you was kindred souls."

Jed nodded. "We were," he replied.

"You know Jed, there's something very special between a man and his first dog, but I guess I don't have to tell you that, do I"

Jed shook his head.

"Any man with a best friend of a dog, has a loyal friend for life."

For the first time that afternoon, Jed turned his head away from the grave. "What about after, Grandpa?"

The old man smiled and put his arms out to Jed who pulled himself slowly to his feet and walk into his grandpa's arms.

"When it's your turn to be standing at them pearly gates, Jed, I promise you Custer will be waiting with his tail waggin, and I'll be waiting to wrap my arms around you, just like I am now."

Jed wrapped his arms tight around his grandfather's neck and sobbed into the man's shirt.

"I know it hurts, boy. You cry all you need to. But you remember, Jed, when those you love go off to heaven, it's just a matter of time till you'll be joining em to. Dying ain't the end of things, Jed. You trust your old grandpa. Suffering and pain is for them that's on this earth, not for them that's in heaven."

Jed slowly stopped sobbing and pulled back just enough to see his grandfather's face. "So Custer ain't hurting no more?"

"No boy, he ain't hurting."

Jed rubbed his eyes, smearing dirt and tears about his face. "Grandpa, don't tell Pa I was crying."

The old man smiled. "I was just telling your Pa that there are things only a boy and his grandpa share. This is one of them things, Jed. You're secret is safe with me. Now if you'll carry the stool, we can make our way up to the house for supper.

Jed waited for his grandfather to straighten his old stiff knees before picking up the stool. He carried the stool in one hand, and slipped his small hand into the large palm of his grandfather's hand and together, they made their way back to the cabin. As they walked, Jed turned his head sharply back to the grave.

"Be seeing you, Custer," he whispered.