A loud rumble of thunder erupted from the sky. A snap. Then a crash.

“It’s just a tree falling,” he said.
“But I’m scared, “I replied.
“Don’t be. It’s okay.”

***

I was seven. Autumn. I was walking in the woods one day, during a thunderstorm. I took a shortcut home when a fallen tree limb made a sort of pathway for me to walk through. I stepped on top of the new log and balanced my way across to the end. When I alighted, my foot stepped on top of something soft. A dead, bloodied puppy, whose backside was crushed underneath the tree.
I ran all the way home.
***
The following week I took another walk through the woods and spotted the same fallen tree limb, some wood splits still attached to its stump. The puppy was nothing more than a small carrion. I picked up a stick and poked at the remains of her once furry white body. Nothing. No response. I was a fool for going back.

I walked home this time.

***

“Dad, should we have a funeral?”
“Let the earth take care of her. She’ll be okay.”
***

I closed my eyes. I am seven again. Another rumble of thunder, another tree falls.

“Relax,” he tells me now.

I cling on to my new puppy.