Country folks sometimes have to deal with things in ways that their urban counterparts don’t quite understand. I remember when my mother had a small dog she had picked up somewhere; a friendly little thing, good-natured, not very smart, but she loved the little mutt. But in time, it got old and sick, then a swelling on one side of its head and a protruding eye, along with what became constant whines of pain, prompted a call to the vet – who was 80 miles away. The vet said it sounded like a brain tumor, not at all unusual in a dog that was 15 years old.
Mom and Dad talked about what to do. The vet was a long way away. The poor dog was suffering. So Dad did what had to be done; he took the suffering animal outside, took his .22 rifle, and carefully, quickly, painlessly put the animal out of its misery. They buried it at the edge of Mom’s garden.
Now, in her upcoming book “No Going Back:…
