Even in the dark I could see his white collar.
My foot was throbbing. Too tight for my boot, but I wasn’t stopping.
As I slid my hands under him, I braced for stiffness.
But he sagged.
His spine was gone. Snapped clean from the impact.
People kept offering to help. All I could manage was “I’m fine.”
When they insisted, I told them to fuck off.
This was my last night with Thug.
After how we got here, I was too numb, too angry, too broken to share it with anyone — even people who loved me.
I limped to the back garden and laid him on the lawn.
I could still smell him.
But now it was mixed with disinfectant… and that smell of death. Like a butcher’s shop after closing.
I called Macy and Mutley over. I wanted them to see him. To know he was gone.
The four of us sat there.
For the last time.
On my mum’s back lawn.
The grave already dug.
An hour passed. Maybe two.
Mum checked in, but she knew. I needed space. Space away from people.
This was caused by people. And it broke my family.
Behind the tears was something else — hot, constant. I’d already broken my foot digging the grave in hard ground. I hadn’t noticed at the time.
The worst night of my life had started four days earlier. I just didn’t know it yet.
We’d had an arrangement.
Macy and Mutley stayed with me.
Thug stayed with them.
When they travelled for work, he came home.
This time, they left him with their boss instead.
I wasn’t happy about it. I said so.
But people make their choices.
3am, Tuesday — the call came from San Francisco.
He’d “escaped.”
By 3pm the update came through. There’d been a fight in the house. Plates thrown. A door left open.
He’d bolted.
Scared. Trying to get home.
That’s when he was hit.
High speed.
A406.
October 10th.
Identified by his microchip.
We arranged to bury him at my mum’s. It felt more permanent. More stable.
I wasn’t interested in cremation.
Fuck that.
So here we were.
Macy curled into him. Mutley beside us, his head on my lap.
I forced myself to make the call.
“He’s here. If you want to say anything, this is your last chance.”
I could hear sobbing. “Sorry” over and over until it became background noise.
I was full of rage.
But they were part of his pack.
He would have wanted that voice.
“We’ll talk when you’re back,” I said.
And I hung up.
Mum came out with his blanket. His favourite toy.
I wrapped him. Tucked him in. Made him small.
And I buried him.
And that was that.
