Agate

Today I was reminded of a story, and decided I'd like to tell it here.

Several years ago, when Angela's dad and I were still married and had all 5 kids living at home, we lived in the tiny town of Lester Prairie, MN, in a huge six bedroom, 100 year old Victorian house that had a small fenced in back yard. We also we had a dog named Agate. (yeah, like the rock.) Agate was a Sheltie who was an absolute sweetheart. We lived in that house for 7 years before buying a 50 year old farmhouse on 10 acres just outside of town.

About 2 weeks after moving into the house, I walked outside one day to find Agate unmoving on the lawn. I went to her and found that she was awake with blinking eyes, but she wasn't able to move. She did thump her tail, but couldn't lift her head. I screamed for my husband to come help me load the dog into the van so I could rush her to the vet.

After examining her we concluded she'd thrown her back out. (I had no idea a dog could do this!) Agate wasn't in the best of shape when we moved. She wasn't really overweight, but she certainly didn't get the amount of exercise a Sheltie needed. Moving to the farm and suddenly giving her all this room to run was a little like plopping me onto a track and saying, "Go! Now! Run 10 miles!"

Agate was put on doggie bed rest and given an anti inflammatory and pain killers. Poor Agate. I felt horrible for doing this to her. Her bed rest was to last 3 whole weeks. The first week she could only go outside when she had to go to the bathroom. The second week she could be outside on leash. The third week she could be outside off leash but only if we were outside with her and not letting her run around too much. But that third week it was hard not to just let her be outside. She hated coming in.

About half way through the week, on a Wednesday afternoon, I had to drive the seven miles to pick up the boys at school. I needed to leave but Agate wouldn't come in. Angela's nurse was due to arrive any minute, so I decided to just leave her outside. After all, it would only be a few minutes that she'd be alone. What could happen? (if you ever have a thought like this, STOP! Don't do it! Phrases like "just one more time." or "What could happen" are known to MAKE things happen!)

I picked up the boys, then stopped at the grocery store to grab some milk. I was gone 30 minutes. I pulled up our sort of long driveway and there was Angela's wagon sitting in the middle of the parking area. I mumbled something about the darned wagon being in my way.

And then we saw her.

I say "we" because all four boys and I saw her at the same time. Draped across one side of the wagon lay Agate.

"Oh my God!" I cried, as I scrambled out of the drivers door, the boys piling out the side. We all stood around the wagon, mortified, sobbing, not really sure what to think. There was our Agate, one whole side (the side that was up) looked like it has been skinned by a skilled butcher. Angela's nurse came outside sobbing. "I found her...at the end of the driveway...she must have tried to follow the van when you left. She was already dead when I found her so I don't think she suffered."

The boys were hysterical, and all scattered different directions. I went to the house to call my husband, "Get home! I don't care how fast you have to drive or what you have to drop to get here, just GET HERE! The boys are hysterical and I need you home." The pressure was one. This was the first pet the boys had ever lost, and I knew how I handled the next few hours would be very important in years to come. How, I didn't know, I just knew it would.

I could hear sobbing coming from an upstairs bedroom. I climbed the stairs to find 13 year old Noah, face down in his pillow. As I rubbed his back and tried to comfort him, something out the window caught my eye. There was dirt flying from the behind the corner of the barn.

I bundled up and went out to find 10 year old Bryon, sobbing and gagging, digging a hole right next to the barn wall. "Bryon honey, you're doing a great thing here, but...well...umm...this probably isn't the best place to bury Agate. If floods here, remember?" (visions of a dogs body working its way out of the ground kept coming to mind.)

"But we have to bury her! She's DEAD!!!! We HAVE TO!!!"

"Yes honey, I know Agate is dead. Dad will be home soon and we'll figure out the best place together, ok?"

"Fine!!!" he hollered, as he threw the shovel into the hole he'd started. "Crap!" I thought to myself. "How did he get that hole so deep so fast? I'll have to remember that next time I need a hole dug and he says he doesn't know how."

It was about that time when I heard a strange noise coming from the garage. I couldn't place what it was, except that I knew for SURE it involved power tools. I raced to the garage to find 13 year old Robbie. Somewhere he'd found a HUGE slab of cement, managing to load it into a wheelbarrow and push it to the garage. In his hand was a drill and he was attempting to carve Agate's headstone. There were chips of cement flying everywhere.

"Robbie..honey...ummmm...this isn't gonna work son."

"Yes it will! YOU don't know! I can do this!!!"

"Robbie..honey...lets go in the house and wait for Dad to come home. He'll help us get everything we need, ok?"

"Fine! I don't care! My dog is GONE. SHE'S GONE!!! Don't you KNOW THAT?"

(Wow...teenagers are very dramatic.)

About that time I realized I hadn't seen Tyler. Where could HE be? I looked everywhere for him and was just headed into the house to call my sister when out by the creek I saw just the top of his hat. The creek is a good 1/4 mile from the house through the field. When I got there he was down in the dry creek bed.

"Whatchya do'in Ty?" I asked?

"Rock hunting. Leave me alone. I'm just looking for rocks."

I thought this was a very clever way to deal with stress. And then I realized what KIND of rocks he was looking for. He was hunting for Agates. My heart ached for him.

Just then my husband came home. We gathered up the boys to figure out where to bury our friend. It was evening now, and very cold and blustery on the Minnesota prairie. My husband and the boys chose a spot out on an open knoll, right at the edge of the field, facing the evening sunset and set to digging. Angela and I watched from the house.

When the hole was about 2 feet deep Dad noticed a problem. Apparently many years before there used to be a driveway in that spot, and it had been paved with red rock. "Dad, you can't stop, it has to be SIX FEET! We can't move it, it has to be RIGHT HERE!" an so he kept digging.

Finally it was time. I bundled Angela in her warmest winter clothes and we joined the funeral procession across the yard. Dad pulling the wagon with Agate's favorite blanket draped over her, the boys following behind one by one, sobbing and sniffing, and me bringing up the rear, carrying a pink snowman named Angela.

As we stood on the windy knoll, Dad started to lower Agates body into the hole, except that this wasn't going very smoothly. The hole wasn't quite wide enough and Agate's stiff legs were in the way. He tried to carefully bend them but they wouldn't bend. He turned to see the faces of all the boys, their tear-stained cheeks bright red from the cold. He looked at me with one of those, "NOW what do I do???? QUICK, save me!" kinds of looks. It was time for a meeting.

He and I stepped to the side. "I could force her legs, but it's going to make a noise. Bring the boys to the house and I'll do it then."

"Yeah right, you think they're going to leave right now? Not on your life. How about if you just stand her up on all 4's?"

"Stand her up in the hole? I don't think it's deep enough to do that."

We walked back over to the grave site. Dad carefully lowered Agate into the hole, standing her upright. Except that her head was bent back so it wasn't going to work. He climbed back out of the hole, hauled Agate out and put her back into the wagon, then started digging again.

Finally the hole was wide enough and deep enough. Agates now frozen body was lowered into the hole, her favorite blanket draped over her. Dad reached up and took the rocks from Tyler, carefully arranging them around the blanket. Then they all looked at me. I guess since my mother is a minister that made me a minister's daughter and the one responsible for saying a prayer for the dog.

"God. Agate was our best friend. She was the best dog ever. She loved Robbie, and Noah, and Bryon, and Tyler and Angela. She loved everyone. Please take care of her for us, and tell her that one day we'll get to run with her again. Amen."

I led the kids into the house while Dad went to work filling in the hole. A few days later a friend made a bone-shaped marker for Agate.

There were a lot of lessons learned that day. Lessons like:

1) always follow doctors orders. If she says bed rest for 3 weeks, she means it!

2) never ever ever say, or even THINK, "Just one more time." or "What could happen?". Just having the thought will MAKE bad things happen.

3) Tweens and teens feel emotion in a very raw sort of way. It's primal. They will also feel it for a very long time.

4) Never try to hand dig a grave in Minnesot in November, and if you do make sure you have the homes abstract on hand so you can go back to be sure you're digging in a good place!

5) Always dig the hole wide enough. Take measurements if you need to!

6) What you say in the prayer is very important to the kids. They will NEVER forget it! Pray from your heart, and remember that God put that creature here for all of you. THANK HIM for giving you the chance to love that pet.