When I was 9 years old, my golden lab got hit and killed by a car.

He was always an outdoors dog. He just showed up on our country property when I was about 3-4 years old and decided to stay there, so we vaccinated him and gave him a collar. I named him Rusty because of his coloring.

He was an old dog at the end. Blind in one eye, hearing was going, and he had bad arthritis. He liked to just lounge around and fawn over me. Sweetest dog ever. There’s a lake across the road from my house, through a thin forested property, and he would trot down there for a swim every now and then to soothe his aching bones. One day, he popped out of the woods on his way home and got hit by a car on the road.

My mother didn’t plan to tell me about it. She didn’t want to risk traumatizing me with my first death, so she was just going to ignore it for as long as possible. Rusty would disappear for days on end, so it wouldn’t be unusual for him to be gone for a while. Then when I’d start asking questions, she’d suggest that he probably migrated somewhere new.

I was playing in my front yard one day when a minivan came up my driveway. A lady hopped out and handed me a small plastic bag. She said, “Here’s your dog’s collar. I figured you’d probably want it. I’m sorry for what happened to him.” Then she just hopped back in her car and drove off, leaving me staring blankly after her. ‘What was that all about?!’

I went inside and showed my mom the bag, told her some lady just handed it to me, and asked her what happened to Rusty. My mom immediately broke down crying, which made me cry, and we both just hugged and cried for a while.

My mom was furious that some lady just handed off a dead dog’s collar to a 9-year old instead of finding an adult. She explained what happened to Rusty and said they were going to bury his remains in our backyard. She absolutely refused to let me see him, though. She said she wanted me to remember him as the childhood friend I grew up with, not as a corpse run over by a car. I wasn’t allowed into the field out back behind my house until my dad had finished burying him.

So yeah, my first experience with death was with my first dog, and my mother could’ve handled it much better. But getting a good cry out with her did wonders for helping me deal with it.