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%u00a9Jack Fritscher, Ph.D., All Rights ReservedHOW TO LEGALLY QUOTE FROM THIS BOOKWhat They Did to the Kid 77One older seminarian, everyone knew, had already played his cards right. He%u2019d be a grand priest, they all said, a very young bishop, and an astounding American cardinal, called to Rome itself, and he%u2019d be a boy from Misery. I understood his ambition, but I had studied his face and wondered under his impeccable grooming what was his secret heart.We all knew how to reach Ordination to the priesthood, but I wondered about our personal identity and our individual integrity, and who that older seminarian really was behind the pose, the mask, the vestments, the incense, the music, the candles, the lighting, the architecture.Hank%u2019s clerical ambition seemed to me to be a worldly vanity, because he was the kind of boy who, having survived public disgrace, could only rebuild himself up by tearing other boys down. In the end, I figured, even a priest had to confront his human heart.June 6, 1957As soon as I arrived home, as if she%u2019d been waiting for me, Brownie died.My poor little dog. Asleep forever. Sometimes when I was five or six or ten, I forgot you with a small boy%u2019s carelessness. Many%u2019s the time I buried my tears in your fur, laying my head on your warm and curly side. Sitting those last afternoons, reading, with you lying in the cool groundcover of my parents%u2019 back yard. You lifted your head, looked at me, and rested your nose on your paws. Nearly fourteen years old. Ninety-eight in human years.Finches and butterflies flew around the still pair of us. What a lovely afternoon was the last afternoon. I put my bare foot on your left forepaw. You looked at me and smiled, yawned, and put your nose down on my toes. I touched your head and said, %u201cSuch a good girl. You%u2019re such a good dog.%u201dShe was in no pain, but she would not eat. Last night I put my forehead to her forehead and said, %u201cWhoever you are in there, I%u2019ll take care of you. I%u2019ll protect you. I%u2019ll keep you easy. You%u2019re still here, honey dog.%u201dStarting on this somber little journey, where goes a little dog%u2019s soul? Moving inexorably to the inevitable. Soon no more cold wet nose resting forepaws on my mattress edge each night. You love me. Only you love me. No more being watched as we eat until the last fork is set down on the last plate, and you stand up for your turn. Your last night on earth.My little dog died last night. I sat with her, breathing heavy and staring at me until 3 AM, finally falling asleep until at 4:30 she called out in four rising cries: mmm, Mmmmm, MMMmm, MMMM! I bolted up