THE dog died, the kids cried, then they went to watch TV. Martin sat with him on the sunny porch, running his hands over him, feeling an octave of old ribs beneath the coarse fur. Oh, Mutley. He could have been sleeping, but he wasn’t, and Martin would have to deal with it. The spade took chunks from the backyard. Thank God for all that rain. Done, he wrapped Mutley in an old sheet and laid him in place. The kids sobbed with every tossed sod until he was half done. Then, spent, they went back inside, leaving him to it.