Sands of Life

Bullet’s Box: The Time I Built a Coffin for a Dog

By Vincent

After nearly 50 years in the trades as a cabinet maker, contractor, you name it…I’ve seen some strange jobs. Rich folks with wild ideas, crooked floors in million-dollar homes, kitchens that cost more than my first house. But once in a while, something so unusual comes along, it sticks with you forever. This one involved a powerful client, a velvet-lined mahogany box, and a poodle named Bullet.

The Call

It was the 90’s. Business was real good for me…I got a call from a long-time client…a guy with connections you don’t ask too many questions about. We had a solid relationship: no contracts, just handshakes. I’d build, he’d pay. Invoices, checks, proper forms etc…On time, every time.

So when he called and said,

“Hey kid, I need a coffin made,”
I froze.

“A what?”
“A coffin.”

My first thought? He was serious.
My second? I was gonna end up in it.

Did I do something wrong ?

I asked about size and material, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Mahogany. Padded good. Red velvet lining.”

All kinds of possibilities ran through my head.

“You’re kidding me, right?” I said. “Why are we talking about this on the phone?”

That’s when he let out a deep belly laugh.

“It’s for my dog, Bullet, jackass. Who the hell you think it’s for?”

I’ve never been so relieved and so confused at the same time.

“Got it,” I said. “When do you need it?”

“Soon. Any day now.”

Mahogany, Velvet… and a Trial Run

I got to work. Built the thing from beautiful, dark mahogany. Smooth panels, thick padding, deep red velvet lining. A little over the top? Sure. But fitting for a dog who lived like royalty.

Before finishing, I brought the frame to his place to test the fit, that’s right a trial run. Bullet had been around for years, always hanging out with my crew, especially at lunch. Sweet dog. Bullet and I were tight…Treated me like family .

But when I laid the box down and called him over he got up and tiredly, slowly walked over…clearly not the vibrant full of pep and energy I’d come to know…I had him step in?

He didn’t fit.

Too short.

For the first time working with this guy, I felt real nerves.

He looked at me.

“Did you measure him?”

“No,” I admitted. “Figured I knew how big poodles are.”

That’s when my assistant…a sharp young woman with a sharper tongue…chimed in:

“Just break his legs after he dies.”

Even Bullet looked up like what the hell?!!!!

The cigar in the guy’s mouth which always stuck straight out slowly drooped, just clinging to his lip.

He pulled it out with a sharp pull pointed at her and gave me a look that said: you better fix this.

Then, a curl of the lip. A half-smile.

“Just measure the fucking dog,” he growled.

My assistant turned pale. She apologized so fast it came out as one long word.

He shook his head.

“Don’t let my wife hear that. Otherwise… we’ll need one for you, and we’ll break your legs to make you fit.”

Bullet’s Final Ride

I turned to her.

“Get back in the truck.”

Then to the dog:

“Bullet, stay. Good boy.”

I pulled out the tape measure and got his dimensions while he wagged his tail and gently licked my hand like we were still on a lunch break.

I rebuilt the box. This one fit perfectly.

A few weeks later, Bullet passed.

Laid to rest in that handmade coffin…mahogany, velvet, the whole deal.

It was a strange job. But one I’ll never forget.

That dog treated me like family.

Funny how building a coffin for a dog felt more like building a thank-you. All free of charge…