As you may have read in Whiff of Death, our beloved family dog of 12 years was put to sleep. I picked up her ashes yesterday. I walked into the veterinary clinic trying desperately to hold myself together. That didn’t last long. Here come the tears. C’mon, Amanda, hold it together. Oh boy. There’s no stopping it. Within seconds I’m crying like crazy, waiting in line, wiping my eyes with my tee-shirt.
My turn. The woman in the lobby comes up to me and asks, “How can we help you”? Somehow I was able to get the words out through my tightly closed throat, “I’m here to pick up my dog’s ashes”. She looked at me somberly and asked me for a name. I mustered, “Star”.
She came back with a box. Before handing it to me I heard, “Is Star Black”? I nodded my head because I could no longer speak.
Halfway home I collected myself enough to open the white box. I looked in. The sealed cedar wood container is engraved with “Star Black”. I laughed through the tears and realized the woman was confirming her name, not her description. Laughing, I visualize my dog sitting in the back of the bus and drinking from the “colored” fountain.
I reminisced about that day. I was filling out the paperwork before Star was put to sleep. I had tears streaming down my face and onto the papers. I could barely see let alone write. Apparently I was so hysterical and incoherent that I put a few scribbles in the wrong places. I’m sure my handwriting and box checking looked like a doctor’s prescription.
Essentially, I figured, they extracted from the paper work that my dog’s name was actually “Star Black”. I was relieved to find the note inside said, “To the Greenberg Family” and not “To the Black Family”.
Thank you for the laugh through all the tears, my beautiful angel dog Star Black, and thank you for the 12 years you gave us!