Bo

My old friend Joel, with Bo. Joel was a saint! And Bo knew it.

Our dog Bo finally died. He’s been dying for months, and on his last legs for a month I suppose. Nothing dramatic, just like the air being slowly let out of a tire. I have really disliked him for years because of his behavior. But he was lovably eccentric I suppose. I did not feel sad until I saw him in the back of the van wrapped up in towels. He was alive when I woke up. I check every morning. I made coffee, came back in the room and he was dead. I believe I heard his last breath. I’ve had it with death (my mother died on February 28th, and my friend Laura died a year ago almost to the day…Maja’s father died on March 17, the same day we euthanized her adored dog Luther, at Cornell)…it’s a haunted time of year. We called Cornell and they said we could bring him to the hospital. Someone would come out and get him, and we’d be sent a cremation bill later. So I go there and go up to the window and state my business. The information person was very sympathetic. I said we’d called ahead. She looked a little confused and asked another office person what to do. This is the main check-in window in the lobby of the animal hospital. The other woman was buoyant and cheerful. She said I brought him to the wrong place and gave me instructions, loudly, to the ‘hydro-cremation’ building, around the corner, behind the vet school. Not as advertised. I think the other customers, with living pets, were quite alarmed by the words ‘hydro-cremation’. I was just trying to figure out how you cremate with water, and reached the conclusion that it’s done with hydrogen. So I drive a few blocks, turn, turn again into one of those huge Cornell driveways, and follow signs for toxic waste disposal, radioactive waste, incineration, biohazard and yes, ‘hydro-cremation’. I get to a grimy loading dock with a sign that says ‘parking for dead animal drop off. ½ hour limit’. There are three doors with big yellow signs saying, ‘biohazard, authorized personnel only’. I stand around outside my car in the cold trying to figure out what to do. The door opens and a workman comes out. I tell him I have my dead dog and he nods, returning with a rolling cart and another guy, pulling on work gloves. They get him on the cart (not a medical cart, just a plastic thing with wheels) and I follow them into the biohazard door. Inside there’s a huge weird looking machine, a tank I guess about 20 feet high. He pushes Bo into a kind of work area with a concrete floor and hands me clipboard. I fill out the form. Then he wants payment. I thought they were going to bill me! all I have is a 20 (there’s no cremation charge at the moment, just a UPS shipping fee for the return of the ashes). So I go back to the car and get my checkbook, which I happen to have. I could have used a credit card but, “That’s another form you gotta fill out, kind of a pain in the neck…”. I get the idea. I give him the check and say goodbye to Bo, shedding some tears on the way out.

Then I walked to work, apologizing briefly to Bo for the many uncharitable thoughts and feelings I’ve had about him, and wishing him well, and letting him know that I loved him. I said, see you later.