Saturday, June 20, 2015

The Box

My dog came home in a box.

It smells like his old bed from Costco with the cedar chips inside. My dog, his whole big life, secured in the confines of a tiny box that fits on my lap. He hasn't fit on my lap since he was three months old.

We opened the box and looked inside. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.

That white paw...

Those brown eyes...

The soft muzzle...

The ears that curled slightly outward...

All of it in that tiny box, sharing space with a chunk of my heart.

He doesn't run, ears perked, expecting ice, when I open the freezer. He doesn't go to the door, curious about who is on the other side. He doesn't put his paws in my hands and dance with me or run outside with his two best boys.

My dog came home. But he isn't here.

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