Friday, March 16, 2018

The story of Phyllis the dog

Phyllis died at the ripe old age of thirteen. We were all ready for it except for B., who couldn’t be comforted. “When do we get her ashes?” he asked.

I lied. “They don’t let you keep the ashes.” 

“Kyle’s dog died last month,” he said. “They kept the ashes.” Then he walked away in disgust.

8 comments:

  1. Was there some reason you didn't get Phyllis' ashes?

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  2. I stayed home with the kids who were still pretty little. Paul took Phyllis to the vet on his own, and didn't see the point to an urn of ashes. We hadn't talked about it ahead of time, and when Ben asked, I didn't want to throw Paul under the bus. I'm not sure I see the point to keeping ashes either.

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    1. I don't either, and I certainly don't believe in any sort of afterlife--so I don't think it mattered to my cats--but the last two who died were cremated and I sprinkled their ashes around my yard where they used to like to hang out. It felt like an important ritual, somehow. (I've also buried cats in my yard, although I'm sure that contravenes some city bylaw.)

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    2. If we were to have a do-over, I would have liked to sprinkle Phyllis's ashes in the woods where she loved to run.

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  3. I remember Phyllis. So many of our pets are buried on the property--dogs, cats, even a horse--but not those who died when the ground was frozen.

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    Replies
    1. We've known each other quite a while, haven't we?

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  4. Okay, now you've reminded me of a dead cat story I might see if I can fit in.

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  5. I never asked for the ashes of pets until my mom's cat was euthanized. The vet never called to tell me they were ready and I never called to ask.

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