The morning after I bury my dog
I wolf my scrambled eggs and check on him,
below the garden, where we bury pets
and their graves cover over with grass, so
we never remember whose grave is whose.
I’m almost through the garden when I see

death coming back to life but not the way
they talk about at church. And talk about
and talk about. Something’s dug him
up, my dog, Caesar, Caesar is his name,
although he’s dead now so I’m not sure if

a name I can’t call to bring its bearer
to me is really a name anymore
if it doesn’t do what a name should do.
I mean, something’s been digging at his grave

and he’s got one paw coming up for air.
When I think I’m sensible again I
run back to the house. My father’s shaving
and I can’t be too excited or he’ll
nick himself, maybe even cut his throat.
Father, I say, as I creep down the hall

–the bathroom door’s just open, the way
old people forget to shut them, although
Father isn’t that old, and anyway,
he went to college. For six years. Seven.
Now he’s a geography teacher.
Father, I repeat. Yes, son, he says. What
can I do for you? His speech sounds strange–he’s
shaving, after all, so he moves his face
to help the razor do its job, just like

he’s a contortionist from the neck up.
I’ve seen it–he makes funny faces which
used to scare me when I was little–I’m
10 now–but now I can hear the strangeness.
Father, I say, someone dog up Caesar.
Or something. Is that a fact, he says. It’s
not really a question, and he doesn’t
seem surprised. Yes, sir, I say. There’s a leg
sticking out. You don’t say, he says. Yes, sir,
I say. Well, well. I’ll be there pretty soon.
Meanwhile, you get the shovel and go back
and I’ll meet you there. Yes, sir, I say. Right.

I walk to the barn and find the shovel
again–I’d forgotten where it was and
I was the one who put it up last night
after Father and I finished digging
the hole. I walk around the garden and
see it again, one leg pointing to sky
and I don’t come too close–not that I’m scared
exactly. But I’m not gung-ho, neither.
I stand and stare and soon Father joins me.
I heard him cough when he came out the door.
he did that so he wouldn’t startle me,
I guess. I point to the grave and he says,

Well, well. For pity’s sake. What do you
know about that. Okay, son. Let’s do it
again. I follow him–right at his heels
though I’m not eager, just a bit lonely.
I want to give him the shovel–before
I can he says, Okay, son, let’s dig him
up. Just like that. I dig with my eyes closed
and when I have to open them I don’t

look directly at the leg. Father lifts him
out and says, Okay, a little deeper
this time, son. When I’m through he puts Caesar
back in and I refill the hole and we
walk and walk on it to keep a good dog
down. Alright, Father says. Go get those bricks
from the old fireplace and bring them over.
I get the wheelbarrow and fill it with
bricks and manage to roll it without it
falling over. Father lays them down like
a brick floor on top of Caesar’s grave. There,
he says. That ought to hold him. Only now
can I ask, Father, what happened last night?

He wipes his face with both long sleeves. Raccoon,
maybe, he says, looking for some protein.
Another dog, maybe. There’s no telling
but that’s my guess or two. He’s alright now,
he adds. Put the shovel and the wheelbarrow
up. I do and meet him at the back door.
He’s smoking a Lucky Strike. I’m sorry,
son, he says. It happens. It’s Nature’s way.
I’m not sure if he means it’s Nature’s way
to die or Nature’s way to be dug up

again, or maybe he means both. Yes, sir,
I say. It got to me but I’ll be fine.
He laughs. It gets us all, he says. He sighs.
I think he means death, and not just surprise.
You cut yourself shaving, I say. Oh, that,
he says. It’s nothing. Which means it’s something.

# # #

Mr. Gale Acuff has had poetry published in Ascent, McNeese Review, Pennsylvania Literary Journal, Poem, Adirondack Review, and many other journals. He has authored three books of poetry, all from BrickHouse Press: Buffalo Nickel, The Weight of the World, and The Story of My Lives.

He has taught university English courses in the US, China, and Palestine.

Photo: Charles ??