I recall years ago how I used to pretend I could follow tracks in the wilderness like an American Indian. Of course they were usually cows so they left quite the track but I am joking. I and KC would roam the woodlands behind our house which were intersected by a green toxic stream and covered the downward slope of a hill. KC was some kind of border collie and something else- a kind of a mutt. There were years when I felt like she was my only friend. I felt sometimes like my hero William Tell Sackett of the L’amour western novels. Always in search of something only partially knowing what it was.
KC was a symbol of more innocent times at least to me. God took her away on August 30, 1990. She was this regal looking dog and she would look off into the distance and then she would run… run.. run… She became after much affection something I was kind of distant from because of the brambles in her coat. I was afraid to love her because of the pain of a dog I had when I was five named Zack. I had seen Zack in pain and saw him die. For whatever reason though I guess it was a love-bite relationship I was never the same. After that in church in 1984, I recall hearing about the bloody death of Christ on the cross and I couldn’t see the point in it. What is the purpose of death? Why must we live to see all our loved ones die?
Anyway, that is just the way it is I guess. I will probably be the last to die. All my relatives will precede me in the rapture. Hopefully.