Robbie was born during my eighth grade year,
& I still remember running excitedly into my home
economics teacher's classroom screaming,
"It's a boy!  It's a boy!"  I finally had a little
 brother. After suffering two younger sisters,
 I had prayed almost nightly for a boy. 
 He was the most beautiful child I've ever seen. 
 As he grew, his sandy brown hair became ringlets a
la Shirley Temple, and he never would let us cut the 
back of his hair, so the ringlets became a staple of
our life.  We didn't mind.  He grew much too fast 
for my liking, and was soon going to school instead 
of playing with the dog in the yard all day.  
He was bright, and sharp as a tack, but 
I have to admit, I'm biased.  He was student of the 
month at his elementary school.  He was a little boy
on his way up.  
  I was out of town, working at a Girl Scout camp
many hours away when I got the call.  When my 
mother told me that Robbie had been hit by a truck
 & was dead, I called her a liar & hung up on her.  
Dad called back & told me to calm down, then 
told me again that our angel was dead.  I went back 
to my unit and packed to go home, tortured by the
fact that I was surrounded by happy, live little 
girls who couldn't understand my pain.  I had been
there to protect them from the dangers of the 
wilderness, & had failed my brother.  
  I tortured myself during the plane ride home that 
evening.  Flying has always been one of my favorite
things, but that night I almost wished the plane would 
crash.  Home was desolate, at best, without the 
giggling child I had loved so much.
  Robbie has been gone seven years now, & it 
frightens me to think that I'll forget him.  Sometimes 
he seemslike a story I made up, or a snippet of a
dream that got interrupted before I was finished. 
 And maybe he is a little of those things, too.  
But above all, he was a beautiful child who loved
everyone & everything.   
  I've since had another sister, and she is protected 
as no child in our family before.  We all know the 
dangers now; the real ones, and those we imagine
are lurking around the next bend.  She is not Robbie,
but we see so much of him in her that it hurts sometimes.  
  This page is for Robbie, an eternal child in my mind, 
and in heaven.  He could have been so many things,
 but what matters is that he was, and that he loved us, 
& loves us still.

  This next story was written by my Mom for the seven
 year anniversary of Robbie's death, and published
as the editorial of a local paper.

  A boy and his dog - running, playing, just sitting side
by side - a common sight...a beautiful memory.
This time of year, my mind wanders back to visions 
of a little boy with long, curly brown hair sitting on 
the front porch steps with his little arm snugly hugging 
the shaggy Benji-type dog that was his most 
dependable companion -with the exception of his 
teddy bear.
  The boy, who was my son Robbie, and the dog, 
Tiffany, had met at the Mercer County Animal shelter 
when they both were about one year old.  When their 
eyes met, it was clear to everyone that they were meant 
for each other.
  Over the next six years many of my best memories were
formed around the boy & his dog.
  Tiffany watched over Robbie as he grew & began to 
explore his world.  She was always nearby.  Whenever I 
drew back the curtain and looked out - if I saw one of 
them, the other would always be close.
  When Robbie's sisters Sarah, Andrea, & Robin were 
at school, Tiffany was there to be his playmate.  
You can only imagine the adventures the two shared - 
battling pirates, aliens, playing cowboys & Indians and 
even exploring darkestAfrica.
  Robbie grew and went off to preschool.  Tiffany waited
patiently at home.  Robbie made friends and his interests 
and world grew, but Tiffany remained his confidant and
the friend thet he could tell all his secrets.  She could
be trusted not to reveal his innermost thoughts.
  Then  Robbie entered kindergarten.
  He went out the gate each morning and boarded the 
big yellow school bus with his sisters.  He was gone a 
little longer and perhaps spent a little less time with 
Tiffany.  If she ever minded or felt neglected she did 
not let her feelings show.  I will always remember her
waiting patiently at the gate when she knew it was 
time for the bus.  When Robbie came through the 
gate Tiffany would jump & run around his feet to let 
him know just how happy shw was to see him.
  Tiffany became an outdoor dog and would refuse 
to enter the house unless there was a thunder storm 
or in the very worst winter weather.  Then she would 
want back out at the earliest possbile moment.
  One of my family's favorite memories is Tiffany running 
in the door and hiding under the bed when she heard 
the first clap of thunder.  The only way to get her out 
of hiding was for Robbie to lure her out with sandwich 
meat.  And if he was not quick enough, she would have 
the meat and be back under the bed.  Of course 
everyone thought this was the funniest sight.
  Robbie learned to read and took great delight in 
reading to the dog.  She would sit patiently and listen 
to her young master's voice.  It didn't matter if a word 
was missed or perhaps not pronounced correctly. 
He didn't mind that she couldn't help him with the hard
words or guess what would happen next in the story.  
They were spending time together.  When the story was 
finished and the book was returned to the house, they 
would run off to play once again.
  The only time Tiffany would get jealous was when 
Robbie would send her to the backyard so he could 
lure "his"  bluejays out of the old maple tree in front 
of the house.  He had them tamed and they would land 
at his feet and eat bread from his hand.  He even 
managed to get one to sit on his shoulder from time to 
time.
  Robbie always had a way with animals and I will never
forget him handing me a baby snake with a huge smile
on his two-year-old face ot the time he caught a field 
mouse in the yard and came running in to show me his 
new "hamster."
  When Robbie had finished with the birds Tiffany would 
quickly forgive him for sending her away and they would 
go off to play or just sit quietly together.  They had all the 
time in the world.
  The one summer day Robbie left the dog's side never to 
return and my memories became bittersweet.
  Tiffany, just like the rest of us, didn't understand what 
happened.  She only knew that he had gone away.
She would lay in a corner of the yard and refuse to 
come when called.  She grieved in her way as the rest 
of us grieved in ours.
  Life - as it has a way of doing - went on.  Our life had 
changed so drastically.  sarah, Andrea, and Robin grew
up and we had a new child, Emily.  
  Tiffany watched her and played with her, but it was not
the same as having a boy for a master.
  Tiffany aged and her black fur became streaked with 
gray, she could barely hear and her sight was not so 
great.  Other dogs came and went in our family, but 
none were ever as special as Tiffany because she 
was Robbie's dog. 
  Then, one night six years to the day that her master left,
Tiffany departed this world.

  I like to imagine that in a special corner of heaven a little
boy with curly brown hair and his shaggy dog are playing
in the sun.

By: Warren Hinkle
Copyright 1998 Tazewell County Free Press

This is a story I wrote the summer Robbie was 
killed.  We went to the cemetary nearly every
day, and I would take some paper & try to work
out the tragedy within the safety of my own mind.


   "Hurry up!  If we don't go soon, it will be too late!" 
Those words were all to familiar to me.  Every 
night they echoed through our house, breaking
the silence like a shattered window, & I knew it was 
time to go.  Again.  Mom & Dad went every night,
while my sisters & I managed to escape the trip at 
least a couple of nights a week.  "Visiting hours", 
as I had named this nightly journey, was a new
monotony for us to endure.  But, to my parents, it
was a duty that their guilt & sorrow forced them to 
carry out.  
   As we drove that same road for what seemed to
be the thousandth time, no one spoke.  This was a
rarity for my family.  But none of us looked forward to 
"Visiting hours."
   We arrived & parked in the same spot we had the
many times before, then piled out of the van, much
quieter than we would have been otherwise.  The 
routine was the same.  We sat & stared at the pinwheels,
balloons & flowers.  Stuffed animals & children's toys 
looked at me with their eternal smiles, oblivious to
what they represented here.
  "Hi little brother."  I thought this to myself.  There 
seemed np purpose in saying it.  Unlike my father,
I don't try to speak to him.  I know it is of little value
now.
   The family sat in silence around the green square
as the pinwheels spun wildly to life in the breeze.  
Dad looked at me & tried to smile.  I knew that his 
smile meant the tears were coming.  Maybe not at
that moment, but soon.  Like everything else here,
silence was, & is, eternal.  These visits made me 
feel so temporary.  The feeling has stayed with me
since the visits began.  As always, I blocked it out,
letting time pass around me, waiting for visiting hours 
to end.
   "Load up!"  This was our signal to get back in the 
van to go home.  My sisters & I jumped in as quickly
as we could.  We were more than ready to leave.
   "Good night, baby boy," my father said, as he 
brushed dirt off the temporary headstone.
 "See you tomorrow."

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