Tuesday, November 5, 2013
But one week, to the day, after we buried Sally on a dreary Sunday morning, Jane started scratching the floor where we always spread out Sally's catnip. We thought it odd, and sprinkled some weed for poor little Jane who could never communicate to the level that he mother had been able to. Jane snubbed the catnip and marched to the back door, insisting to go outside. I again indulged her, as she hadn't been out for nearly a week. To my amazement, Jane trotted in a straight line to the new flowerbed we had dug, and stood directly beside the daisy that we planted over top of her mother. She stood there motionless until she was sure we had recognized her act, then trotted off, knowing full well that she had just told us in a full sentence, with correct punctuation, footnotes, and cataloged references that she knew her mother Sally had died, and that she was now resting underneath the daisy in the back yard.
Posted by Dave the Dead at 10:43 AM