His Final Drive Home

Got a call from the vet yesterday that Otto was ready to come home. Yes, Otto is gone. But we had him cremated and put in an urn. I couldn’t fathom bringing him home and burying him. My dad did that with my childhood dog Klaus, but I just couldn’t. I mean, what if we move someday? I wouldn’t want to leave him in the backyard. I couldn’t leave him behind. And I didn’t want them to scatter his ashes for me, either.

So, we made the choice to cremate him and bring him home. Standing there as he’s dying I’m being asked to pick out an urn for him. I just looked at the paper and said “I can’t do this right now”, so my son picked one out. It’s a nice urn. Looks like a small, wooden keepsake box. Something you’d keep a family heirloom, maybe some jewelry, a polaroid, or a baggie of weed in. Or, your dead dog’s ashes.

The vet’s office also gave us a very nice cut glass ornament with Otto’s name on it and a paw print. And a certificate of cremation.

I have Otto sitting on a wood cabinet I built years ago for one of the kids rooms to keep their TV on, and store books or records in underneath. Well now it’s a table in the living room where we keep a lamp, and underneath are vinyl box sets, some classical records, and a cassette carrying case. And now it’s a shrine to Otto.

The house is so quiet without him. I mean, weirdly quiet. I never realized how much of the silence in the house was taken up by his tippy taps in the dining room and kitchen. Or the “ching ching” rattle of his collar as he made his way through various rooms of the house looking for nothing in-particular. Or his incredibly loud snoring as he napped on the living room floor, or back in the day up on the couch. At first the silence was very disconcerting. It didn’t feel natural. We had 14 years of wild barking at cars and dogs and squirrels making their way by the house in the front yard; random squalls and lower range growls at birds and more squirrels in the backyard, as well as our daily greetings at the garage door when we’d get home from work or an evening out.

Now, it’s just the sound of the furnace or the click-clack of the ceiling fan. I’m a little more used to it than I was a week ago, but it’s still deafening at times. I used to have conversations with Otto when I was home alone with him. Now I feel like a mute, saying nothing to no one. Until everyone gets home from work. Still, it’s not the same.

I am glad to have him home, back where he belongs. It will always be his home, whether he’s 19 lbs of barking vengeance or just ashes in a box.