He dragged the long handled round mouth and splitter across the checker plate floor. The resultant rasping sound was out of place with the surroundings. A weak sunlight battled to clear cotton wool clouds , as gulls criss crossed overhead. Jackie bounded out of the wagon.
Satisfied that he was alone, he trudged off into the soft sand. The shovel and splitter weighed heavily on his right shoulder.
" Shit I hate this job ", he thought, whilst patting the cold pork chop in his coat pocket.
“Just in case ……..”, he thought again.
Jackie appeared and disappeared in the primary dune line, ducking and weaving after gulls.
He slowly dug the hole with his father’s words ringing in his head, " Dig the bastard deep so the foxes dont dig him up ".
The splitter handle nudged his right knee and stood balanced in the sand.
" Here boy ! ", he yelled.
Jackie lifted his head and sniffed.
" We dont feed slow grey hounds ", he said.