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enough to fail shop. Even me.
    For three days Mr. Gilette encouraged me to work on a different project, and each day I worked on my coffin. For once, I enjoyed the work and thought Dad was right when he said that working with your hands was a useful skill.
    I hadn’t measured BeauBeau, so when I drew out my plans I figured three feet was long enough. I made the coffin a foot high and made two handles, one for the front and one for the back. On the top I carved, To B EAU B EAU III, M Y I NSPIRATION. At the end of the week I carried it home on the bus.
    On Saturday morning I went down to Kmart and bought two yards of red satin.
    â€œTaffeta,” the sales lady said as she snipped it off the bolt. “Good for prom gowns. What are you going to do with it?”
    â€œLine my dead dog’s coffin,” I replied.
    She didn’t say another word, even though I paid her one nickel at a time, which took half an hour.
    When I got home I glued the middle of the taffeta to the bottom of the coffin and let the rest of the fabric drape over the sides.
    When I was ready Dad took me to the vet’s office to retrieve BeauBeau. We carried him out to the car in his plastic bag.
    â€œYou sure you want to go through with this?” Dad asked, as he closed the trunk.
    â€œOf course,” I replied. “I think it’s about the smartest thing I’ve ever done.”
    â€œWell, considering your IQ,” he said, “I guess this is pretty good for you. I only wish you would do this at night so the neighbors won’t watch.”
    â€œLet ’em,” I said. “They might learn something about being nice.”
    But I was glad Dad and the neighbors didn’t watch what awful thing I had to do in order to prepare BeauBeau for his final resting place. Once we returned home Dad helped me carry BeauBeau into the garage. Then he left. Pete was with me when I picked BeauBeau up and tried to place him into the coffin. He didn’t fit. BeauBeau had seized up solid, and frozen with his legs sticking straight out. When I put him sideways into the coffin his legs made him too wide, and when I turned him onto his back his legs stuck straight up and I couldn’t lower the top. I grabbed him by the paws and tried to bend his joints but they wouldn’t move. He was as stiff as an iron fence.
    â€œThere’s only one thing to do,” I said to Pete. I could feel the little hairs sticking up all over my body.
    Pete read my mind. “No,” he shouted.
    â€œYes!” I insisted. “Get me the three-pound hammer.”
    â€œYou’ll burn in you-know-where for this,” he said with his face all twisted up.
    â€œThe hammer,” I ordered. “Or I’ll fit you in here with him.”
    He dragged the hammer over, then looked away and covered his eyes.
    â€œYou’d be better off plugging your ears,” I advised him, took aim, and lowered the hammer with both hands. There was an awful crunching noise as I smashed BeauBeau’s left front knee. Pete moaned, then started to jump up and down like a pogo stick. I folded that limb over, then hauled off and splintered the right front knee.
    â€œJack has lost it!” he yelled, and ran off. “He’s killing BeauBeau again!”
    I knew I had to hurry. If Betsy saw what I was doing she’d turn me in to the Society Against Cruelty to Animals. Who knew what Dad would say? Probably tell me I’d be better off using a band saw.
    â€œForgive me, BeauBeau,” I muttered. I raised the hammer up over my head and brought it down again, and again, until I had busted up all his joints. Then I twisted and snapped his legs back, and tucked them up against his chest. When I finished all the gruesome work I fit him sideways into the coffin and covered him with the taffeta. Sorry, sorry, sorry, I said to BeauBeau. I didn’t mean it to be this way.
    Hurry, hurry, hurry, I said to myself. I set the coffin topin place