|last picture together December 4, 2016|
Last Wednesday the trash bins did not get rolled back to the house because I always grabbed them after our afternoon walk. And the W-K Times didn't get picked up Friday morning because Jim and Kirby would get it after their morning walk. We both find ourselves leaving a last bite of meat on our plates because we would save Kirby a treat each meal.
Friday I came home to a message on the answering machine from the emergency clinic with "some information about Kirby". I almost didn't return the call, but I knew it would be hard for Jim to do it as well so I just got it over with. As I suspected, they wanted to let us know that Kirby's ashes were ready to be picked up. Jim had requested that he be cremated. I confirmed that they would hold the ashes until we were ready to come and get them. When is one ever ready for that? I am still traumatized over my dad making me go to the vet to pick up the collar and leash of our German Shepherd after he died on the operating table when I was in college.
But Jim was out yesterday afternoon, so he did stop and pick up the remains and settled our bill. He said it was terrible. He felt the eyes of the other pet owners on him as they sat in the waiting room with their pets on a leash while his was in a box. When he got home, he told me not to freak out, but that Kirby was in his favorite spot. I peered into the conservatory, and sure enough Jim had set the box on the couch where Kirby had spent most of his time. He loved sitting in the corner of that couch (or on top of the cushion) so that he could watch for Beloved (as I referred to Jim) come home from work. It was a jolt to see the box in his corner. One surprise is that the emergency clinic had made a cast of Kirby's foot to give to us. It was a nice gesture that I am sure we will appreciate at some point. For right now it is another reminder of what we are missing.
|all that remains|