Kevin and my dad had a horrible day today. It started off badly because harvest in the field they are in is going rough, a lot of downed corn. It’s taking forever and we’re having to sacrifice some yields. Then the combine broke down. They got going again, but it was just one frustration after another.
After lunch, my dad called.
Cassy, my parents’ German Drahthaar, had been run over with the combine. There was nothing Kevin could have done. Nothing my dad could have done. Just a terrible horrible tragedy.
Cassy died hunting, doing what she loved to do. She was using the combine as a brilliant flusher, scaring up all kinds of critters to hunt. My dad had been keeping her by his side while he was working, to prevent an accident. In a shift of his attention to the task at hand, she started following the combine again, and got in front of it, in the waterway where the grass is tall. To add to the hurt, today is Opening Day of Pheasant Season.
She was a member of the family. An exceedingly hairy family member who cleaned the floor with her tongue and left snog on the windows.