We buried Russell out at the end of the dunes, where he always headed when off-leash. The digging was good, all sand, a bit damp, which helped avoid cave-ins. I got him good and deep, well away from any critters who might dig for him and succumb to the drugs that had been used to euthanize him.
I took his collar off to free him on his journey, but replaced it with his tracking collar. I don’t know why I did this. I don’t think straight all the time. When my parents died and the house we grew up in was sold, I thought about calling the old number, just on the off-chance that Mom or Dad would pick up wherever they were out there in the void. I never did. I guess I placed the tracking collar on Russell for the same reason I considered calling my old number: just to see what might happen.