A Coffee Can Buried in the Lawn (fiction) . . . . . . . John Crawford

A COFFEE CAN BURIED IN THE LAWN

Three Chambers by Michael B. Schwartz © 2013

was digging up our dead dog from the lawn. Winter was on us, so the ground was hard and cold. I really had to whack at the dirt to get anywhere.

Across the street in Pennypack Park, kids were running, fooling around. The Catholic school down the street had just let out, and the kids were in no rush to go home. Leaning against the shovel, I took a break from the digging and watched as they yelled and laughed and flew about in their plaid uniforms.

My wife told me to dig up the dog, which was funny, given that she and I were never dog people. We only got the dog because our daughter, God bless her, was the one who wanted a puppy, absolutely had to have one. She begged and begged until we finally gave in. She named her Diana, after Princess Diana. “She ’ s a real live princess, ” our daughter would say, “just like in storybooks. ”

Years passed, and despite all that happened, we could never bring ourselves to get rid of the dog. Even when she died, we still couldn ’t part from her. So we cremated Diana, put what was left in an old coffee can, and buried her in the lawn.

Now we were moving, leaving our empty house for a new condo downtown. We needed a change of scenery. It would do us good.

Like I said, it was my wife ’ s idea to dig up the dog.