370
JUAN FRANCISCO BLANCO
Highway 62 stopped nearby, so the four children riding in the
back could get to see Moka and Eegh. Brilloso started running
around and barking at the back of the pickup. All three of the
little boys piled out and started playing with Brilloso. One of the
boys came over to Tital and asked him if they could take Brilloso
home with them.
“Sorry, Brilloso is my dog. He’s trained to look for people in
an earthquake. He’s special,” Tital told the young boy.
“He sure is. I think he would like to come live with us. We
could play with him every day. My brothers and sister need
another special dog. We just came back from the dog doctor. He
told my dad our dog Blacky is very sick and won’t be with us
much longer.”
Tital walked over to the man sitting still behind the wheel,
and said, “Your son seems to be concerned that his dog is going
to die.”
The man, who looked very tired, said in a deep voice, “Yes,
Sam, my six year old realizes his dog Blacky is dying. A car hit him
this morning. My children were playing with him, and throwing a
ball. Blacky ran out into the street to retrieve it for them, and the
car that hit him just kept on going. We just finished taking him to
the Vet, but the Doc told me even spending over five hundred
dollars that I don’t have wouldn’t save Blacky. Too many broken
bones in his body. The children all started crying when I told
them we would have to put him to sleep. They seemed to know
what that meant. I didn’t have even that much money, so we’re
taking him back home. When the kids are asleep tonight, I’ll take
Blacky out to the woods and shoot him with my rifle. It’s the best
way; everything has its time. He’s lying back there with my
daughter, Anne; she won’t let anyone touch him. The only good