RIP Prudence

I never noticed the baby's strike-pose in this
picture of happier times with our dog.

Yesterday, Prudence was hit by a car and died.

The plucky dog-walker from down the street, who rescued our beagle once before, discovered our dead dog and delivered the news with a lecture to me about how I should've altered the fence to prevent Prudence from digging any escape holes.  What could I say? Many of her criticisms were accurate, but they were hard to hear at that moment. When I saw Prudence, I burst into tears.  My sobs softened the angry dog-walker.  She even gave me a hug then toned down her tirade.

I fetched my oldest two to help me collect our dog and bring her home. The three of us circled around our dog, crying our eyes out.  The 13 year old and I tried but failed to lift up the still warm, limp dog.  With the blood streaming out of her ear, some teeth knocked out, and a bit of an organ poking through her abdomen, we were afraid to lift her up only to have her fall apart.  Besides, we were just too emotional to see her like that.

I called my neighbors who immediately ran down the street to our aid.  They took charge, allowing the kids and me to dumbly stand there watching them.  The wife spoke loving words to Prudence while she swaddled her in towels and scooped up our dog in her arms.  The tenderness comforted us.

Back at the house, my neighbor instructed us on how to bury our pet.  I'm so glad she did, because I have never buried anything before.  (Unless you count the half-eaten birds left over from my neighbors' cat's meal.  As kids, my sister and I unsuccessfully buried these birds that were soon dug up and scattered.)

Bundled in towels with her collar resting on top, Prudence is now buried in a plastic box with cinder blocks on the lid to prevent animals from digging her up or opening the box.

At the beginning of our long dig session.

Of all the children, my 5 year old has taken the news the hardest.  Throughout the day, she bursts into tears about missing Prudence.  She also keeps asking me to buy them another girl beagle named Prudence.  (Stay strong.  Keep saying no!) Heartbroken, my girl and I hug until her little mind wanders onto some new distraction.

Who could've imagined our dog dying?  Certainly, I didn't.  Last week, I ordered beagle stuffed animals for the youngest kids as Christmas presents.  Thinking how cute it is that 2011 was our year of the beagle, I wanted to commemorate the addition to our family.  Now those toys seem like memorials, and I'm waffling on whether to still gift the kids these reminders of their dead dog.

Perhaps kids are more resilient than what I give them credit for.  The oldest think I should still gift these toys.  Besides, they are already planning out the supposed flock of chicken we will buy come spring.  I'm not ready for more pets. In fact, I'm beginning to feel like animals come here to die.