Letter To The Editor

I'm not the first person to lose a beloved pet, but Keno was so special, the best little doggie in the world. He's the one that protected me every hour of the day, followed me to the bathroom, and spun in little donut circles when begging for a treat. He was about to have his 6th birthday. A high-bred miniature pincher with a black coat and rust markings, floppy ears and little rust-colored eyebrows, Keno was so sleek he was absolutely shiny in the sunlight ... the perfect 12-pound pup. And he exuded the purest, most perfect love. I thought of Keno as a little furry bit of God.

I got the call when I was heading back from a shopping and lunch expedition to Canton. The lady on the line inquired, "Do you have a dog named Keno?" We'd moved East from the Metroplex 3 weeks earlier, and my city dogs were having the time of their lives discovering a tad of liberty, other animals, and the joys of sniffing cow patties. They could dig out in the soft sand with 3-paw swipes, so I immediately feared they were running amuck, barking at someone's cows. I said something like, "Oh, has he run off?" and she said so gently and with the perfect words, "Actually, he's been hit. He's no longer with us." Keno had learned to chase cars just the day before. Obviously he wasn't very good at it.

My mind blurred and reeled, "Oh God, oh God, oh God" was the only words I could find. My precious little baby was gone. My Keno. My love. I suspected his sidekick Dante, was on the loose too.

The lady inquired "Where do you want us to bring his body?" and I froze. I remembered the paralyzing agony of the last time I lost a little doggie ... I could not bear to see him injured and dead. I could only imagine his grave as a constant reminder of our separation.

I know this is a strange reaction. I knew if I dealt with his remains, I'd just never recover from the grief. With great audacity and total irresponsibility, I asked the kind voice on the other end of the line, "Is there anything you can do with him?" She just said, "Yes." No qualifications. No questions. An unequivocable "Yes." She could take care of it. I can't even imagine the selflessness of this act. Nor could Deena, my angel, imagine the immense kindness of what she had offered to do. In my heart, I knew that she would not throw him in a culvert. In my heart, I knew that this kind woman who took the time to stop and call and take me off the hook in my weakest and most vulverable moment, would do the right thing. At least I hoped. We truly would have looked for him for the rest of our lives had she not called.

The next day, I found her number in my cell phone, and called to thank her and apologize for sticking her with dealing with my doggie's remains. Deena told me he was buried under a tree on a big farm, and that they had 17 dogs running around up top. I could not have wished for a more perfect resting place for my beloved Keno.

I am amazed at the depth of the concern and kindness of this woman I'll probably never meet. I will forever be gratefully indebted. I suspect there may have been a husband involved, perhaps with the digging of the grave, undoubtedly agreeing to serve a stranger, and a small shiny black pup in this way. To me these people

are heros ... the Angels of East Texas, who on a Saturday, with other things to do, stopped to CARE about the demise of a little doggie, and care for his broken-hearted mama with the greatest, most selfless degree of kindness. I pray that God will bless them bountifully. I will never forget the great kindness of my Angels of East Texas.

Glenda Snow, Chandler