The man dug his shovel deep into the ground, pulling it fiercely out of the soil and tossing the contents to his side. He inhaled a deep breath of humidity and leaned against the spade. I’m too old for this, he thought to himself.
The sunlight reflected off the calm Minnesota lake, emphasizing the layer of sweat that had appeared on the old man’s forehead. He sighed to himself as the metal blade plowed further into the ground beneath his feet.
As he was shoveling, his eyes rested themselves on his private dock, where no movement occurred. He imagined the great basset hound with it’s snout elevated towards the clouds, barking obnoxiously at any boats that passed by their lonely island. It had never felt more lonely to the man than now.
He figured the hole was deep enough now, so the old man lifted that large dog into the ground, a fiery burn settling into the depths of his throat. He began to scoop the dirt over the white clothed dog. He was trying to think of the happy things that the dog had brought him rather than the sadness he felt now. When the ground was relatively flat once again, he lifted a stone with his large, wrinkled hands and set it on the grave.
The old man stepped back and stared quietly at the memorial, letting the sounds of swaying tree branches calm his mind. Eventually his vision clouded with a thin layer of tears, so he set the shovel down and walked towards the end of the dock.
There were no boats on the lake, which was odd. But the man absorbed the peaceful silence by scanning the long distance of blueish green water as the sun set in the background. He thought about the large, ugly dog and how it would’ve surely been sitting next to the man right now, perhaps barking into the wind.
Minutes later, a familiar honk flooded the man’s ears, and he looked up from his reflection in the water. Across the lake was a small yellow speedboat, filled with children that were taking turns honking the horn. The man recognized the nice boat, because it belonged to a family that often floated passed the island. The kids liked to come wave to the large basset hound, and sometimes bark back at the old thing. The man watched their solemn faces as they pieced together the puzzle, glancing back and forth from the man to the gravestone. The children were asking questions about where the dog was and what was going on, absorbing the sadness in their parents’ eyes.
A woman holding a baby began to wave microscopically, as if nothing were wrong at all. The old man, still standing at the edge of the dock, wiped his forehead in attempt to cleanse himself of the sweat, and looked up. Everyone on the little boat was waving to him, including the clueless children. In effort to cure himself of the sorrow, the old man stood up straighter and forced his face into a kind smile. He raised his right hand, and waved back at them.
When the little yellow speedboat drifted away, the old man turned back towards his house. As the sun began to roll beyond the edge of the earth, there was a noise. It was very faint, and it took the old man a few seconds before he realized what it was. He turned around slowly, his eyes scanning over the lake, when he realized where he had heard the sound before. Across the water’s vast region, standing at the edge of another private dock, was a small basset hound, howling at the little yellow speedboat. The noise reminded him of the word rebirth, and he considered the impossible idea that his old dog had been reborn into the youngster across the lake.
The old man grinned, turned around, and walked back into his cabin.