Biscuits

Now, finally, after three years, I can write about you without breaking into tears. We got you, Biscuits, for our son's, Neal's, 6th birthday in 1989. We told Neal to choose a name of something he loved more than anything in the world. He said he loved biscuits and gravy, so he called you Biscuits.

Oh, how we loved our Biscuits. You were a brown, blonde, and white Walker hound with the most loving dark eyes. When Neal was little, you would run up behind him and jump on him until you were both rolling in the grass. After he was giggling with innocent happiness as only a 6 year-old boy can do, Biscuits, you would get hold of the back pockets of his jeans and drag and shake him across the yard, with Neal giggling in pure glee. You loved to take your paws and roll Neal like a log across the lawn. In the winter, Neal would sit in his little green, plastic sled and you would pull him around in the snow. Forever companions--a boy and his dog.

Oh, how many hours you two played together. Neal doesn't have any brothers or sisters, so you were his closest friend. Biscuits, you were the smartest dog I have ever known. We could tell from your bark if an animal was in the yard, if a person was in the yard, or if you wanted attention. But the most impressive bark you had was the way you said the word, "WATER" when you wanted a fresh drink.

You stayed with us until you were 10 and Neal was 16. That summer, Neal bought you a little friend. He brought home a 10-week brown and white English pointer. He named the pointer, Kimber. You weren't too sure about Kimber--jealous, I suppose.

Biscuits, you broke your chain one day and ran free for about 10 minutes our "friendly" town of Weaubleau, Missouri. Then you came back and sat down beside your house to be tied up again. After that day, you ate less and less. You began digging many, many deep holes with your nose in the ground around your house. Eventually, you got so weak we took you to our veterinarian. He saved your life that night by using heating pads to raise your body temperature and giving you IV fluids, but you still wouldn't eat. He sent us to a doggy hospital in Springfield for x-rays. When I lifted your thin body to be weighed, I saw a tiny red spot on your side. Evidnetly, while you were loose for those few short moments, one of our "friendly" neighbors evidently shot you with a 22 rifle through the gut. How cruel can people be? I think your faith in people was destroyed, and you slowly gave up on life. The doctor said that the shot had missed all vital organs, but you had a growth that couldn't be removed. We chose to not let you wake up from the surgery, because you would have quickly waned away again. What a hard decision. You trusted us with your life when you walked away with the doctor. If we had let you wake up, you were going to go right into kidney failure again without the IV fluids, and the IV fluids were only prolonging your pain. Oh, how our hearts were broken to lose our precious Biscuits, and how I wish I knew who would shoot such a sweet dog.

We miss you, Biscuits, and will always remember our sweet, sweet girl. Neal was right. He loved Biscuits more than anything in the world--so did we. You taught our boy about responsibility and a love of creatures. You gave our son happiness, your heart, your love, and your forever faithfulness. We owe you a great deal, for you helped us raise a fine young man.