Charles Burchfield, Journals, July 13, 1942

     A dream -

     A large Hotel situated on the edge of a wild ravine - It is morning in July - My brother Joe and I have rooms in the hotel, Joe is working on a large illustration for some advertising concern. After I had looked at his work, I went out for a ramble in the ravine. Spotty was with me, not sick as now, but well and full of life. Towards dinner time, I picked her up, and carried her up the ravine's steep bank, thinking with satisfaction, that I would take her to my room, and the hotel manager would not dare say anything.

     The other side of the hotel was close to the brink of Niagara Falls - Later (that is, after the above episode) I went out on the hotel's long veranda. It seems as if Mussolini and Hitler had been chased by Federal agents, and were at bay. Mussolini was standing at some distance, on a rocky promontory at the brink of the Falls, Hitler on a similar spot, close to the Veranda. I said to them sarcastically "Well, gentlemen, how do you like the view?" - At this Hitler turned toward me, and with a look of hatred said "Oh,that reminds me" and pulling out a revolver he pointed it at me, and pulled the trigger. It misfired tho, again and again. Turning I ran into the hotel, where I saw many of Hitler's Gestapo, looking as I thought for me. I thought if I could just get to the other side, and down into the ravine, I could escape. Just as I opened a secret door to do this I awoke.

     B + I take Spotty to the dog-warden's. - She seemed so much better, and so glad to see me, that I almost lost my nerve. Had Bertha not gone with me, I probably would have put it off again.

     After it was over, the warden, who is a kindly sympathetic person, asked if we wanted to bury her at home. I had thought perhaps this was against the law, so was glad we could do it.

     I buried her back of the pavilion, surrounding the grave with stones, and a bouquet at the head. Many other things were buried with her, intangible memories of the past eight years. How we will miss her. - A gentle, lovable little dog, she yet had a saucy gayety about her that set her apart from all the dogs I have know.

P.M.  In studio getting ready the wheat field picture for work.

Charles E. Burchfield, July 13, 1942