For if the dog be well remembered, if sometimes she leaps through your dreams
actual as in life, eyes kindling, laughing, begging, it matters not where that dog sleeps.
On a hill where the wind is not rebuked and the trees are roaring, or beside a
stream she knew in puppyhood, or somewhere in the flatness of a pastureland where
most exhilarating cattle graze. It is one to a dog, and all one to you, and nothing is
gained and nothing lost...if memory lives. But there is one best place to bury a dog.
If you bury her in this spot, she will come to you when you call...come to you over the
grim, dim frontiers of death, and down the well-remembered path and to your side again.
And though you may call a dozen living dogs to heel, they shall not growl at her nor
resent her coming, for she belongs there.
People may scoff at you, who see no lightest blade of grass bent by her footfall,
who hear no whimper, people who have never really had a dog. Smile at them, for you
shall know something that is hidden from them.
The one best place to bury a good dog is
in the heart of her master...