About 10 years ago, one of my best friends died. He was yellow, outgoing and infinitely trainable. He was my wife and I's first dog, and our baby. We got him at 10 weeks and he was the runt of 8 and the only male. He loved to hunt. He was 2 and it was an accident, he tied himself up in his lead and choked. I wept openly as I laid him to rest wrapped in his "car blanket" with his favorite baby. I found myself struggling with my beliefs. I prayed for a sign. One that would be undenyable, one that could not be confused in the trappings of everyday life. With no sign, I picked up the shovel to begin covering him up. There under the shovel on the pile of dirt, clean as if it did not just come from the last spade I had turned was a white arrowhead. I carried it for a long time, and when I was ready I put it in a small pouch in the headboard of my bed. 2 years ago My wife and I lost our second dog. It was cancer. He was only 4, yellow and reserved for a Lab. He had spent the first 9 months of his short life at a puppy mill in a kennel with little human contact. The previous owner dropped him at the local pound when he got too big to sell. Again I carried the arrowhead, without any questions of my faith. Thanks for reminding me of this. I will carry the arrowhead today. Luke