pet cemetery

“Jackalope spent years by my side. He was a part of me. The minute I met him he climbed into my lap and from then on he never wanted to leave. His job was to love and be loved, and he excelled in his career. He spent his last days in my arms, and on his last evening when he could barely lift his head, he mustered up all his strength to push himself up nearly to standing trying to close the short distance between us to be in my lap again. 

I hold his leg bones and think of how he bounded - when in college I would take him to lay out in the sun on the quad, when he would bound through the grass right up to students who came to say hi, where he got the attention and affection he craved while they got the comfort of him standing in for the little white dogs they grew up with at home far away, when he was so overflowing with a desire for affection I couldn't keep it all to myself.

I hold his pelvis and think of how when I was out in the yard with him, I'd grab his waist when another dog passed by so he couldn't run up and bark in their face while sneaking sniffs if they turned away, and how his hips fit perfectly in my hand.

I hold his tiny toe bones and think of how he'd put a paw on me to ask for something, or how he'd put out his paw to show me my spot and demand I sit down on the couch with him, or how even though he hated having his paws touched, sometimes, if he was sleepy enough, he'd let me hold hands with him.

I learn how his vertebrae fit together and move and I think of when he first came home with me he hunched his back and gradually eased as he settled in, and how when he lost mobility in his old age he began to hunch again, or how he looked curled up to sleep.

I kiss the top of his skull goodnight. I rest it in my hands and remember how it felt to rub his big fluffy ears. I remember what the groove between his eyes felt like. I look at his toothless jaws and remember how long ago he had a signature snaggletooth before getting the few teeth he had left when I adopted him taken out. I rest it on my thigh and think about how often he rested his chin on me to sleep. I lean my forehead against his, which for years grounded me, and I can still feel my entire body and soul relax.  

It means even more to know his bones were prepared with so much work and care by someone who has heard about him and of what he meant. Thank you again.”

-Isabel D.