Friday, August 27, 2010

Almost Done

I'm almost done settling Beau's affairs. I still have to tell one of my best friends, a fellow dog lover, as she had a rough week of her own and it seemed like "piling on" to bring it up.

Besides, I couldn't figure out how to do it without crying and I only see her at work these days. Yeah, I know, she's still going to be pissed at me for not saying anything (and probably rightly so.)

I haven't mentioned it to anyone else at work, either. Most prrobably think I'm a crazy dog-lady as it is, no point in making matters worse. They wouldn't understand, anyway, and would just stand there and look uncomfortable, trying to think of what to sort of cliche you're supposed to say for "a dog".

I need to tell my mom, too, but she's not much into email and I still get choked up over the phone, so that will have to wait as well.

I did finally called the groomer. That was hard. They've known him since he was an obnoxious pup and saw him every two weeks after that. They were quite attached.

Tomorrow, Zachary returns to "the day spa" (as we call it) for his bi-weekly bath, sans his Uncle Beau. There won't be a dry eye in the place and I'm dreading it like you can't possibly believe.

After that, there remains just one more detail. We had Beau cremated, and in a week or two we will need to pick him up.

Can anyone explain to me why this can't be done by via mail?

Those finding humor at such times to be in poor taste should stop reading here, but for some reason my brain, perhaps in an effort to ease extreme sorrow, tends to latch on to the oddest things.

For example, at the 24 hr. Vet Hospital where we took Beau to be cremated, I had to fill out a "Patient" form. Name, age, breed, neutered or not,...

Yes. Really. For my deceased dog. There I was, trying to hold a pen with tears were streaming down my face and I could barely make out the words on the paper. Thankfully the man (in hushed tones) said, "You can stop there," when I reached the line that said "Reason for visit."

Come on people.

Next came the instructions: we were to drive around back, past the service entry, until we reached the Dead End.

Yes, he actually said that.

Dead End.

Did I mention that tears were streaming down my face?

Which reminds me of when my dad died, years ago, and we were at the funeral home. Did you know that people actually dress all in black and talk in hushed tones in a funeral home? That there are tissue boxes (usually in pairs) on every flat surface? That no one actually looks you in the eyes, but stares down at some invisible spot on the carpet with their hands clasped in front of them? And no matter what you say, they agree with you.

I always thought that happened only in movies.

Actually, I just lied.

There were tissues boxes everywhere except in the casket "showroom" - Well, what would you call it? Dozens of polished caskets, some open, some not, with little note cards described each ones "features" (hint: the really "good" ones are in front and at eye level, the less expensive ones were only partials and up higher.)

You could even poke at the cushy lining, and pick the color.


But not a single tissue box to be found.

Not one.

Well, isn't this a grim post.

OK: How about, I just got a short video of the puppies, now four weeks old. Needless to say, they are adorable and wiggly, with bright eyes and wagging tails.

First visit: 9 days away - not that I'm counting.

(tick tock tick tock)

Is it time yet?

No comments: