The dogs and I walked around the land as is our habit, last thing, before turning in. This night marked by the difference. No Gobi, no black faithful friend, there always close to Jo. How remarkable is the absence of a dog. All moments in the day passed with this slither of known absence.

Returned from Town council meeting, and found Jo, burning the bed, and blanket of Gobi, on the open fire. Fresh from digging his grave, next to Jals, which he would have dug in the rain and darkness, alone as he wanted. We smoked a cigarette together, as Jo went through the few moments of the day. The vet’s advice, the gentleness of the injection, how you know when the life inside has gone.

I hope i’ve remembered right, he named Gobi after the Gobi desert.

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