3am. Not the ideal time to be up and writing… but indeed the time my heart tells me. There is an underworld of night-crawlers sneaking through the city while it sleeps. Dozens of individuals that eat from trash bins after midnight, and only feel safe to explore the world by moonlight. Lost souls, purposely hiding.

When I reached Eddie beneath the bridge, he was inconsolable. I sat closeby and just waited until he could bring himself to speak. But before that ever occured, I noticed two things. One – something was missing. Two- something stunk. Before Eddie could gather himself up, I put things together.

“Where’s Shiloe?” I leaned in. Eddie wailed even louder. So I stood and followed the smell. I lifted the grey army blanket resting beneath the concrete beam, and there he was. Shiloe, dead.

When Eddie ran from his abusive home nearly a year ago, he took his best friend with him. The only one he could trust. The family do, Eddie’s solace since age 5, “Shiloe.” The one he clung to at night during dad’s dgrunken outrages, and the same one he clung to in the hidden alleyways of the inner city.

There is another group of people who roam in the darkest hours of the night… these are the night-feeders; those that prey on others. Those that steal, and beat, and hurt others to feed their weakened bodies and confused minds. When old Shiloe tried to protect Eddie from the night-feeders, faithful in a way only a good dog can be, he paid the ultimate price. They stabbed him to death. Faithful to the end.

Eddie finally stuttered out his words. Told me what he wanted. It wouldn’t be the first time, or the last, that I have stumbled around fuzzy lines of health issues or property acts. But… we carried Shiloe’s old brown and grey body through the shadows for about a kilometer. Then we spent an hour with some old pieces of board, digging a grave at the side of the railway tracks, where they would walk.

Many of you reading this letter have a dog at your feet, or a cat curled up on your lap even now. Others will see them on walks in the park later in the day, or at the end of the street. Today when you experience your cherished pet, or see someone else so likewise (especially a boy and his dog)…won’t you say a prayer for Eddie? And for the countless “Eddies” running, hiding, and doing their best day-to-day, across the nation.

As we stood over the secret grave, Eddie said, “I’ll see you soon Shiloe.” In a terror I have known too well, I put my hands on his shoulders and said “One day. But not soon, okay? Not soon.”

Love. Pray. Act. Believe.

Written with teary eyes and hands that still stink…

Wearily, Tim

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