Paw Prints

    I asked my husband, "What do you think it'd be like if we lost a child?"  

    

    He smiled and nodded in that way that you nod to one side like, that would be unimaginable.  

    We'd been bitching at each other all morning.  That kind of irritation which has nothing to do with him or me.  We missed out dog.  Olivia was with us for more than 1/2 of our some thirty-year relationship.  It was like a piece of us died when we put Olivia to sleep.  I have cried every morning when the sun peeks out. No longer does Olivia's cold nose urge me to get up.  I cry every night as the shadows fall and there's  no old and sometimes crazy yellow lab to feed or take pee.  I am crying right now.  

    I posted on Facebook the day we lost Livy.  People were kind and sympathetic and then you could feel, after my tenth post, that they were bored, annoyed, just wanted to tell me my dog was dead get over it.  

    But that's not how it works. 

    

    Yesterday my husband and I went to Target to get me a bicycle helmet, him a Santa hat and us a pool floaty.  We nearly got in a wreck on the way as Ken complained about nearly every driver.  "Look at that idiot. Why'd he pull in there?"

   Wandering around Target I wasn't  in the mood to purchase anything.  "I hate this purple bicycle hat.  I want a white one.  This one is too big.  This bulbous turquoise one looks like I'm in a cartoon."  

     So we went home.   Back home to our rental in the beautiful town of Vero Beach, far from our home base in Maine but like a second home, to just chill.  Rest.  Distract ourselves.

    Around 11:00 I received a call as I was doomsday scrolling the news.  I accidentally tapped the red button on my iPhone and hung up.  But the number was a Vero Beach number so I rang back.

    "Veterinarian Medical Center of Vero Beach.  How can I help you?"  The voice of a young woman, cheery and light, asked.

    "Well, I think you just called me.  This is Joy Markley."

    "Oh.  Right!  We have Olivia's paw print here for you to pick up anytime."

    "Her what?"  I didn't connect that somebody was talking about Olivia.  That somebody had something tangible of my beloved and now nearly-a-week-gone dog.  I cried.

    "Yes.  You can come by any time to pick it up anytime."  

    I cried even more.  "Thank you."

    

    "You're welcome."  It felt as if an angelic voice echoed through the speaker phone.  

    "Guess what?"  I yelled over to my husband who was engrossed in Facebook or maybe YouTube on his computer.  "The vet center has Olivia's paw print."

     He smiled and encouraged me to go pick it up.  And then he went back to scrolling through Facebook or maybe YouTube.  

    I hopped in the car and headed to the animal medical center. I cried on the way there.  I couldn't believe how long it took to drive there.  The drive before seemed so quick.  I cried as I opened the door to the clinic remembering that the last time we were there Olivia was immobile in the back seat, in pain and near the end of her life.  Just laying softly and quietly in that pink blanket that covered her blonde hair and held her tight.  

    "Here I am crying again."  I told the two sweet young women receptionist as I pushed through the double glass doors.  

    One woman, sitting behind the counter and in front of a computer screen, with short straight pink hair smiled in that way that made me want to bawl even more. A blonde-haired woman peeked around the corner from behind a wall and smiled.  I wondered if they remembered Olivia and how she alerted up on her weak and unbalanced legs once she recognized she wasn't in the car or at home.  Did she remember how I asked to go with my beloved dog into the back where they put an oxygen mask on her and gave her sedation.  The receptionist I remembered had been so kind as to read the intake paperwork to me last Thursday when I was crying so hard I could barely stand while two vet techs grabbed my sweet girl off the gurney and carried her away and forever.  My dog who I loved so much was soon to be gone.  

    "Hold on one minute."  The young woman walked behind a wall and returned with a green bag.  She smiled and I cried.  

    I walked out of the clinic holding the green bag up to my heart as I made my way to my car.  Once inside I opened it up to find a neatly wrapped package with Olivia Markley typed on a round sticker on it.  I imagined who had done that.  Was it a person who had also lost their own well-loved pet who now tries to provide comfort for the families of those whose pets have recently died?  Oh course, I hope for that.  And then I saw a neat little package with the name Beau Middleson on it.  

    I smiled.  Who the hell is Beau Middleson?  

    I gently carried Beau's tissue-wrapped paw print in my hands back through the glass doors and to the vet staff.  "I think somebody would be looking for Beau's paw print."  I smiled, maybe even joked as the staff looked up.  

    

    They stared back, horrified.  I am guessing by the look of the receptionist's face this might not have happened before.  And they probably don't have copies in the back room.  

    Life goes on in the middle of grief, doesn't it?  I reminded myself, feeling guilty for finding humor in the situation.   

   Once back in the car I sat and cried before I carefully peeled back the clear tape to reveal Olivia's paw print inside.  An final impression of my dog who had a mind of her own up until the end.  On her last morning she somehow wriggled the gentle leader right off her nose and I let her.  She pulled and tugged on her leash, taking in the smells Vero Beach's bushes and sand, right before she peed on the grass.  And I let her.  We must have both known something was coming.  

    I ran my finger over the rough little ridges and divots that would have made up her foot pad and toes.  I imagined somebody taking her lifeless paw and gently pushing it into clay.  I cried and hoped once again that she was now in a place of youth and freedom.  No pain and no more panting sweet girl.  

    Losing a pet you love feels like ripping off a piece of your heart and burying it forever more.  That piece of my heart belongs to Olivia and will never heal.  I get that now.  

    I haven't thanked the medical center yet for the gift that was so unexpected and will be kept so close to my heart.  

    But I will.  

    And I'm guessing Beau's loved ones will do the same.