Robbie’s mom was enraged and to the point she meant business, Robbie never saw her this mad in his 23 years on this earth, she then said, “Get the shotgun and kill that mutt!” She was hysterical in her fit of madness, saying too, “pack your bags, Buster, you're leaving tonight!” Robbie knew today she meant every word, so, tearfully he went inside and walked down to the basement and grabbed his dad’s old shotgun, which was a single-shot 12-gauge, that the gunstock was cracked so the black electrical tape held it together and secure.
Robbie walked up the staircase, and walked through the living room where one of his sister's was reading a book on the sofa, he didn't even glance over to acknowledge her because he was so distressed and crying, and he opened the front door and his mom was right there like some Nazi Reichsleiter giving out orders to kill without regard to any life. Then a neighbor pulled up in a car, and Robbie thought, ‘Oh, a reprieve,’ but his mother quickly pointed to the dog and without even considering her motive while the neighbor was now outside beside her sparking up a conversation, but his mother yelled out, “go kill that old mutt.” Robbie still remembered those words as clear as the day his mother uttered them, and this painful engram.
Robbie walked down by the old elm tree where the beagle was having her pups, one was already hanging out from the womb, and he gently grabbed her and her placenta and picked her up. Robbie had his shotgun in one hand and the beagle in the other. He started to cry, he knew his job, it was to assassinate an innocent dog, who in return showered nothing but requital love. The golden hour was at hand and the sun was setting in an orange hue that was so beautiful, yet, so tragic too.
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