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Ruth by John Lauver, III March 21, 2007 My aunt always loved her dogs. Thus, she was very distraught after the death of Ruth, having raised her since she was a puppy. It would also be an understatement to say that she felt a little guilty in regards to the manner in which the dog was killed. It, being a very small and quiet dog, had been stepped on by a young girl during a Thanksgiving party. The dog had been buried in the back-yard and the family had had very little time to begin to healing when, just a few days before Christmas, and old black sedan pulled up their long gravel driveway. Two elderly women who had traveled a great distance to stay with their youngest sister over the Yule tide. Not having been to visit in many years, they followed the directions verbatim to, what they thought was, the first white house with black shudders on the road. They walked at a drowsy pace up the long walk to the front door. My aunt answered the door and stepped out on to the porch to talk to the women. "Hello, we're here to see Ruth," said the first elderly woman, in a thick Pennsylvania Dutch accent. My aunt didn't recognize them at first but as she thought back it did seem that she'd seen them before. She wondered if these could be the same women who had given her the dog so many years ago. "Of course," she thought to her self, "why would anyone else come to see the dog." She had to break the bad news to them. "I'm sorry," she said, wincing at what they would think when she told them that she'd let the poor dog be trampled to death, "but, Ruth died just a few weeks ago." My aunt couldn't believe how distraught the two were over a dog they hadn't even seen in 12 years. She added "We just buried her in the back yard last week." The two stopped for a moment and stared at her, so she continued, "We even held a little service for her back there." It was then that the two old women began to wail uncontrollably. "We were going to take her back home with us after Christmas" they both sobbed in unison. Instantly, my aunt knew that she could never tell them how the dog had actually died, but suddenly she had an idea that might cheer the old women up. She blurted out, "Ruth did have a daughter, her name is Sarah, and you could take her home with you if you want." The women looked up inquisitively at my aunt, wondering how their elderly sister could possibly have had a daughter. She'd never been married and she was always such a God-fearing woman, never the type to run around. My frantic aunt dashed inside, then back to the door, peeped out at them and sighed, "Just stay there I'll go get her," and then flashed back into the house. The two women looked at each other and decided that they wanted no part of any bastard children. Besides all that, they could barely take care of themselves. When my aunt finally reached the front door with the puppy in hand all could be seen was the dust from the gravel road and two tail-lights blazing their way back to Pennsylvania. Luckily for everyone, on their way down the road they noticed another house with black shudders they must have missed on the way in. The two old women stopped, and were re-united with their long lost sister Ruth. About the author: I enjoy writing quite a bit. | | | |
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