/lit/ - Literature

Here is a short story I've written. I'm thinking about submitting to a few places. I would really appreciate some feedback.

"Buck"

It was late December, but I was burning with sweat. The small pile of dirt was all I had been able to dig out of the frozen earth so far. My wife and daughter were standing in the snow, crying. Lucy cradled Buck's body in her arms, which had been wrapped in an old bed sheet. He had not struggled against going to the vet this time. Maybe because the growing cancer over past eight months had left no struggle in him. I struck the ground again with my pickaxe and hit a root as thick as my forearm. I cursed, and my wife shouted my name.
"Well, this isn't easy, Karen," I said back.
I didn't want to go into the garage to get the hacksaw for the root. When he was healthy, Buck would always come out into the garage with me while I worked on our family's cars. He would sniff around and pant, just happy to keep me company. I would talk to him as I changed the oil or replaced a headlight. Instead, I hacked at the root with the pickaxe until it was splintered enough to be torn off.
I grabbed the shovel and scraped the loose dirt out of the hole and onto the snow. I could still see yellow spots around the yard, but I tried not to think of that either. I just focused on the digging, and the blisters, and the cold wind that bit at my sweaty face. It was my duty as the father to do the burying, and I knew that I had to be strong for the girls.
Karen rubbed Lucy on the back through her parka. "I know it's sad, honey. But he was in so much pain and now he's gone to a better place."
Eventually the hole was deep enough. Lucy handed me the bundle of sheets. Buck's body felt so light as I knelt down and set him inside. I tucked the sheet around him, as I had tucked Lucy in to bed each night. Karen placed his dog food bowl on top of him, and Lucy set his favorite ball and some milkbones at his head.
"Bye, Buck. Thanks for being our dog." Karen choked out between her sobs. She held Lucy tight as I picked up the shovel once again and began to toss the frozen dirt and clay and snow over his body.
Afterwards, as the girls headed inside to make hot cocoa, I crossed the snowy yard to put the tools away. I closed the door, sat on the ground, and cried.