Saturday, November 1, 2008

Traces and Reminders

I went to the vet's yesterday, to pick up Ozma's ashes. It was a relief to realize that they were so different from her that it wasn't painful. It wasn't anything, really, to pick up the box containing the little urn. However, while I was there they brought a dog out from the back rooms where they do the serious procedures.
The dog was older, and long-haired, and moving kind of slowly. As the tech brought him out, she explained that the signs had been a false alarm—that the condition they'd thought the dog had cleared up on its own, and they didn't need surgery. About that time, the dog caught sight of his human, and he dropped about half his age. He started jumping around and biting the leash, and I was suddenly crying and jealous.

When I got home, I was getting everything out of the car and I saw T. J. and Chris walking down the street. T. J. is a nice guy—younger, married, with a kid just old enough to go on his first trick or treat last night…barely. Chris is a loving butterball of a chocolate lab--and one of the best trained dogs I've ever met. When Oz and I would walk past their yard, if T.J. wasn't out, Chris, who was lying in the grass without leash or fence, would wag, and even look longingly at the door which led to T. J., but would never leave the yard alone.

And, true to form, yesterday I saw them and said, "Hi. Hi, Chris!" Chris squinted at me, then looked up at T.J. for permission. T. J. gave it, and Chris came bounding over to get his butt scratched. As his dog was loping over, T.J. called, "How's Oz?"

And I had to explain. And about cried in the street. And it goes on and on.

Greg

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