Precious Baby Furball

Awwww...FOUR years today since she passed to Doggy Heaven. I miss you, Baby Paws! Yes, it was quite a scene earlier when I fetched her remains and sat with her for a few minutes. No, no, don't be silly...she's not laying in the attic, a la Mrs. Bates. She IS resting comfortably in a small wooden box...her ashes, that is, which are compressed into a clear, small plastic bag. The ashes look like gray sand or something. It's all so surreal. THAT'S my doggy, resting in my hand, as I squeezed the bag like a package of cake mix. We also have a clay-imprinted pawprint, which still has some stray strands of fur attached. The Doggy Crematory does this for you. A nice idea, actually, though a bit of a perverse twist on things. I mean, you usually do the hands in cement thing while you're alive. I wonder if I can arrange for MY limbs to be manhandled into wet clay upon death? The ashbox and clay imprint are both in ANOTHER plastic bag, which is stuffed into a dining room cabinet. Christ, at least DISPLAY her paw print! And scatter some of her ashes already! But this is all up to mom and dad, who aren't exactly swift. Baby Fur's remains USED to lay under the china closet, which was perfect, as this is where she used to curl up and growl like the sweet angel she was. NOW she makes company with scratchy Irish records from the 60s. Is this just TOO macabre and bizarre? I always said we should've stuffed her head and placed it prominently in the living room. It certainly would've been a good conversation piece. Oh, well, you gave us 17-and-a-half fun, shit, and bark-filled years, Puppy Precious...more than most dogs live. I still miss you, though.