Page 90 - Demo

%u00a9Jack Fritscher, Ph.D., All Rights ReservedHOW TO LEGALLY QUOTE FROM THIS BOOK78 Jack Fritscherand held her, lay with her, comforted her, falling asleep together, knowing in the morning we%u2019d have to decide something, falling deep asleep on the floor, holding her, waking at seven with my father, kneeling next to me holding her, rousing me.Brownie? Brownie? She was dead. Still warm to my touch, kissing her, holding her, until my mother came with a red wool blanket and we all knelt around her, crying, stroking her familiar curves, our fingertips touching in her fur. %u201cOur little girl is gone.%u201dHer shoulders were still warm, her paws still so soft and tender. Her eye caught the light, but she was not looking at me.I clipped some brown fur from her soft neck. My father brought his wheelbarrow. My mother cut bouquets of flowers from the yard and we lay the flowers, red and yellow and purple and pink, and fresh green leaves, all around her beautiful brown body, and wheeled her solemnly into the shade under her favorite tree where together my father and I shoveled silently in the brilliant light of a warm June morning.