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More Words of Wisdom

• Wisdom: The virtue of gratitude
• Words of Wisdom: Nature’s creation: The rainbow
• Words of Wisdom: Moon poetry

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He had been running for blocks that night in an attempt to outrun his attackers, who eventually caught up with him, brought him down, and carried him to a quiet backyard in the 7700 block of East Jackson Street.

In the enveloping darkness his disbelieving eyes caught sight of the fresh hole in the ground they had dug about an hour before. As they threw him into the hole, he had no idea why they were after him and could not fathom their incredible cruelty. Laughing hysterically, they tossed shovel after shovel of dirt on top of him. He prepared himself for impending death by suffocation as the last few shovel fulls covered up his head.

He couldn’t move and was no longer their prisoner, now he became captive to the cold, unyielding earth that surrounded him and held him tight. He was buried alive!

After they left, he fought bravely in an attempt to free himself and nearly ready to give himself over to death, he tried one last time to arch his back and strain his neck. Mercifully, just his nose pierced the earth like a spring crocus and he breathed the awaiting air of renewed life.

As the sun came up Sunday morning, he never saw it or felt its gentle warmth covering the ground above; he was now shivering uncontrollably from the dread coldness that his body could no longer fight. He had been in the grave now for 12 long and awful hours. It seemed like an endless eternity.

Next door that morning, Robbie Wilson, had a long overdue date to mow his much too overgrown lawn. As he wheeled the lawnmower to the far end of the yard, he thought he heard soft whimpering and what sounded like grunts and a groans. As Robbie peeked over the fence, he couldn’t believe his eyes. He saw fresh turned earth with — oh, for Crissake— a nose coming up out of the ground like the earth itself was struggling to breathe. He screamed to his girlfriend, Melissa Vanderpool, “Call 911.”

The Escambria County Sheriff’s Deputies came immediately and proceeded to dig him out, first with their hands, and then ever so carefully with shovels, so as to not add any more pain to his arduous ordeal. As the earth finally released him, he dazedly stood up, walked around a little bit, and then collapsed in a heap on the ground from shock and dehydration.

Sgt. Mike Ward of the Sheriff’s Department followed the ambulance to Safe Harbor Hospital. The awaiting medical team marveled that he could still show some love in his heart and trust for people. Love, indeed covers up a multitude of sins. When they realized that he had no identification or any way of telling them what his name was, one of the attending veterinarians gave the Bull-Mastiff a new name, saying; “From now on you shall be called Lazarus.”

Michael Hickey is a local writer and poet who lives in Pelican Bay and Swampscott, Mass. His book, “Get Wisdom,” is published by Xlibris Div. Random House Publishing and is available at 1-888-795-4274 Ext. 822 ,at WWW.Xlibris.com, or your local bookstore. E-mail Mike Hickey at Mikehic@nii.net.

SINLESSLY SUPERIOR

by Michael Hickey

The more people I meet

The more I like my dog

I open door; runs to greet

Begging for walk or jog

Loves to yelp and wail

Play and somersault

wags body from the tail

Loyal — to a fault

Never-ever nips

If he can only growl

Toilet water-laps; sips

Full moon; prone to howl

Homely faces; likes to lick

That is-when not sleeping

If someone’s sad or sick

Whines like he’s a-weeping

Likes me rubbing his underside

Or scratching his hairy posterior

He has no human pride

Thus, thinks that I’m inferior