Musings on a Dog Funeral

Sunday morning brought no relief of the emptiness I felt. I got up early, like I usually do, to walk the dog and feed her. Completely forgetting the events of yesterday. I put food in the bowl and grabbed her leash from the counter, and called for her.

“Mira! Mira come here girl!”

Camille peeked from around the corner, sleep still in her eyes, “Babe, what are you doing?”

“Taking the dog out.”

She came into the kitchen, pulling her bed-hair into a loose ponytail. Her eyes were slightly swollen, and salt lines travelled down her cheeks. Camille pried the leash from my hands and gingerly set it back on the counter before catching me in her arms.

“Shhh, I know. I know,” She whispered into my hair.

We had buried her under the tree in the backyard. It was her favorite place to sleep when we barbecued in the summer. I’m not quite sure how I should feel right now. It isn’t like I didn’t know she was going to go any day now. I just didn’t realize it would be so soon. I should have been prepared for this. But I wasn’t.