My dog died. I went out there in the yard and looked at him and there he was, dead as a hammer. Boy, I hated it. I knew I’d have to look around and see about a shovel. But it didn’t look like he’d been dead long and there wasn’t any hurry, and I was wanting a drink somewhat, so I went on out a little further into the yard to see if my truck would crank and it would, so I left. Thought I’d bury the dog later. Before Mildred got home. Figured I had plenty of time.

Birds were singing, flowers were blooming. It was just wonderful. I hated for my old dog to be dead and miss all that, but I didn’t know if dogs cared about stuff like that or not. I didn’t have a whole lot of gas in my truck. I didn’t figure I needed to get started riding and drinking. I thought I’d just ride over and get something to drink and then ride back, sit on the porch and maybe cut my toenails until Mildred nearly got home, then start burying the dog to occupy myself.

Joe Barlow wasn’t home. I sat in front of his house for three minutes and blew the horn, but nobody came out. I left there and went to U.T. Oslin’s house. The whole place was boarded up, looked like nobody had lived there for three or four years. Weeds were all up in the yard and stuff. I left there and went by Manley Musgrove’s, but I figured he was asleep and didn’t want to wake up, so I just spurted on past his house, didn’t stop.