By Triston

Apr.5

It was a bright Saturday morning. It was such a nice day out that it should have been a crime to stay inside.

 

I was playing video games.

 

I was about to destroy the final boss that I stayed up all last night trying to destroy.  His name was the arch demon. He was the hardest boss I have ever played. Of course my mother had to come upstairs and kick me off the ps3. “Go play outside! It’s a beautiful day out.”

 

So I went outside and it was an awesome day.

 

I was eight so anything could amaze me at the time. I could run after my dog for hours on end and could not have a care in the world. The best part is when you hear a noise and it becomes an adventure, it makes you feel like the coolest kid in the world, because you thought of it. You were the first one to come up with an idea on how to cure cancer, or when me and my dog found a portal to an alternative universe, were everyone and everything looks like a Disney adventure. It is a great feeling to exercise your imagination, but now Facebook and other social apps and video games and texting and television come along were it doesn’t require you to use your head, or you could say it doesn’t allow you to use your head. As you sit their becoming more stupid by the minute while balancing between talking to your friend and playing Farmville at the same time, many people do not realize they could be doing something productive, like helping your dad with cars, or helping your mom with the cooking and reminding you need to add eggs to a cake, and other things so a cake doesn’t end up looking like a pancake.

 

But I digress; let me get back to the story.

 

As me and Lacey, my Border Collie/ Jack Russell, were sprinting down the hill, grass stains on my knees, and dirt on her fur, we stumbled by a field of oats, and we decided to re-enact an entire war and pretend the taller oats were enemies, and we were out of ammo, so we had to use a knife. As we snuck through the oats, we began to notice that there may be more enemies than I first thought. The oats were rustling and all of a sudden a flock of birds took off. “Bombers!” I screamed, as I ran for cover, but Lacey had a different idea. She looked like a cougar jumping through the air, and caught a bird in her jaws, and she closed them in a death grip around the bird’s neck. I was not expecting that, and I didn’t know what to think of it. Should I be upset? Should I be happy because Lacey killed a bomber? I was really confused by what lacey felt after killing the bird. Did she feel sad? Or happy? I know dogs can sense feelings, but do they have any of their own? I could not answer that.

 

 

The next day I took the shoe box for my dress shoes, a shovel, and my iPod to where the bird died. I told Lacey to sit and watch, and thankfully she did. I began to dig a hole for the dead bird.

After I scooped it up, put a flower on its chest, and played “Sweet Home Alabama” on my iPod while I buried it.