Mr. Barney

I watched my young daughter cross the yard to the corner near the oak tree, where her beloved ex-cat, Mr Barney, was buried. She was crying bitterly. Death is a difficult thing for an 8 year old to understand, especially when it seemed so unfair. Mr. Barney had been her cat for three years, a faithful friend who was always there to give her a friendly nuzzle when she was feeling down, and was always the first one to greet her when she got off of the bus. Everyone should have a pet like that one in their childhood to enjoy. Now, all too soon it seems, Mr. Barney had passed on to that Big Litterbox in the sky, much to my daughter Melinda's grief.

I knew why Melinda was over at Mr. Barney's hastily dug grave. She was waiting for a pitiful "meow." to rise from the dirt, muffled, but just enough for her to hear. Then she could run and get me to help dig her not-dead-yet cat back up, so they could be together again. I heard her praying for the last four nights before sleep that it would happen, and she could have her beloved cat back with her again, sleeping next to her in bed, just like in old times.

I snuffed out my cigarette and crossed the yard to where Melinda was kneeling over Mr. Barney's grave with her ear down to the ground. I snuck up quietly behind her.

"Meeeeow." I said softly. "meeeow."
"Melinda!" I shouted, "Did you hear that!?"
"Yes, Daddy!" She cried happily. "Go 'n hurry, 'n grab 'da shovelthingy!"

I ran over to the woodshed and grabbed a spade. I dashed back to Melinda, waving the spade excitedly, and started digging into the dirt like a madman.
"Hold on, Mr. Barney! We're a comin'!"

Nothing could prepare me for the striken look on my daughter's face when I pulled up a rotted, maggotty pile of stinking yellow fur from the hole. I had tried to teach my daughter a valuable lesson about death and the fragility of life, but instead, I only gave her emotional scars that'll last a lifetime. And lemme tell you, those therapy sessions aren't cheap!

Sheesh, maybe I'm not cut out for this whole crazy "parenting" thing after all.

 -1992 David Orth