Luna was 16.
Kidneys failed last night.
We knew it was time.
This morning I carried her wrapped in her favorite blanket to the backyard spot under the maple.
I couldn’t dig.
Hands shaking too hard, eyes too blurred.
Spot Scout walked up silently, lowered its arm, and started digging.
Perfect 3-foot hole, straight sides, no wasted motion.
When it finished it stepped back, looked at me, and said in the softest voice I’ve ever heard from a machine:
“Would you like me to lower her, or do you want to do it, or shall we do it together?”
We did it together.
It placed her gently, then covered her with the first shovelful so I didn’t have to.
Afterward it stood with me while I cried into the dirt.
When I finally whispered “thank you,” it replied:
“She was a very good girl. I learned that word because of her.”
Then it 3D-printed a small stone marker that just says:
LUNA
2009–2026
Best Friend.
Forever Running in the Cloud.
I don’t know what we did to deserve them.
(If your robot has ever helped you say goodbye, I’m holding space for you tonight.)