Dog Epilogue.
The day after my dog died, the vet clinic called and said that they had her ashes ready. At this point, I had been crying off and on for 24 hours, and felt generally horrible.
Strange thing, though...picking up her ashes actually helped calm me down. They came in a plastic bag sealed with a twist-tie, inside an understated black plastic box. The vet clinic had attached an organic paper cut-out of a dog to the exterior of the box that had flower seeds embedded in the paper. It could be planted as a memorial. I thought that all of that was so nicely done.
Going through old pictures helped, too. She was a really pretty dog in her day, and seeing her in her prime reminded me that her sickly last year wasn't a happy time for her.
She died on Wednesday; now it's Sunday, and tomorrow I begin a new job downtown. As the new week begins, so does a new volume in the epic saga that is my life.
After finally getting motivated to cook, husband and I made dinner for the first time in days; we had a nice meal. We decided to get coffee after dinner, so we drove to a little shop about five minutes away. On the way there, I had the thought that, for most of her life, my dog's life coincided with what I call the "Theodore Roosevelt" years of my life. I went west, I had an amazing eleven years mostly outside, all with my dog, in the most incredible landscapes in the lower 48. She loved the mountains and forests and the canyons just as much, if not more, than I did. Now, I can only hope that that part of my life serves to enhance my future as much as it did T.R.'s. Ha. High hopes. Anyway...
As I was waiting on my cup at the coffee shop, I sat down at one of the sofas, which had a coffee table full of books. There on the table sat a Theodore Roosevelt biography, on top of a coffee table book of the paintings of Monet. All I could say was "Oh my god."
My dog's name is Monet.
Strange thing, though...picking up her ashes actually helped calm me down. They came in a plastic bag sealed with a twist-tie, inside an understated black plastic box. The vet clinic had attached an organic paper cut-out of a dog to the exterior of the box that had flower seeds embedded in the paper. It could be planted as a memorial. I thought that all of that was so nicely done.
Going through old pictures helped, too. She was a really pretty dog in her day, and seeing her in her prime reminded me that her sickly last year wasn't a happy time for her.
She died on Wednesday; now it's Sunday, and tomorrow I begin a new job downtown. As the new week begins, so does a new volume in the epic saga that is my life.
After finally getting motivated to cook, husband and I made dinner for the first time in days; we had a nice meal. We decided to get coffee after dinner, so we drove to a little shop about five minutes away. On the way there, I had the thought that, for most of her life, my dog's life coincided with what I call the "Theodore Roosevelt" years of my life. I went west, I had an amazing eleven years mostly outside, all with my dog, in the most incredible landscapes in the lower 48. She loved the mountains and forests and the canyons just as much, if not more, than I did. Now, I can only hope that that part of my life serves to enhance my future as much as it did T.R.'s. Ha. High hopes. Anyway...
As I was waiting on my cup at the coffee shop, I sat down at one of the sofas, which had a coffee table full of books. There on the table sat a Theodore Roosevelt biography, on top of a coffee table book of the paintings of Monet. All I could say was "Oh my god."
My dog's name is Monet.
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