We Will Remember

The Dog

Desert. Nothing but desert surrounding me. It's hot. It's dry. It's sandy. It's hilly. It's hot. But that isn't the problem. For once, it isn't. What I need to do is help my master to disarm these bombs. It's bombs. I think it's bombs.

He whistles to me. I pad over to him. "Good boy!" he whispers into my ear. Then we set off on our journey. It kills me to watch him suffer. Rivulets of sweat are trickling from his forehead down his face, some resting in the crevasses in his face. That vein which always pops out of his neck when he is nervous is seriously out now. I can smell his fear. The sweat which coats his body is unnoticeable to anyone but me. And I can hear his pulse racing. He knows that I can hear this, for he glances at me, contorts his mouth into what he thinks is a grin, and motions me to start searching. I'll try my best.

So I begin my search for that bomb. I can hear something ticking away in the background. But I ignore it. That can't be the bomb. There. I sense it. The smell of nitroglycerin. Nothing like it in the morning. Three paws to the left, one forward. I sit down, almost grazing my tail. I sit down when I'm right next to the bomb. It's almost six feet under the ground. It'll be hard to dig up without setting it off.

He doesn't notice. He should have noticed by now. We're partners. We know each other well. I turn around. Don't pull my tail.

Oh God.

No. No. No. No. No No No no no no no nonononononononononononononononononono.

He's dead.

I run over to him. No pulse. No Pulse. I nudge his arm with my nose. No movement. No Movement. NoThing. I lick him, to make sure he isn't mucking with me. He isn't. No breath coming, Damn. And I turn around. A gun. A Gun. A SNIPER. This is worse than I thought. I start to pant. I'm getting hot under the collar.

Boo----Dead.