My Dog Came Home in An Urn

I asked my mom to go pick up Mali as soon as possible after she informed me that the vet's office had called to say that Mali was ready. I saw on video chat what my mom brought home. It's a pretty little container, but there is no way my little girl is in there. No, she's not there. She left her body the moment her heart stopped beating on March 26. I have to believe that.

What lay lifeless, probably in some sort of box, for four nights was her body.

What was transferred to an animal crematorium was her body.

What was burned to ashes on March 30 was her body.

And what is in the urn is not Mali. It's only the remains of her body.

It hurt me to think of my dog lying alone, not eating, moving, or even breathing. I hated to think of her being set on fire in the crematorium. But really, it wasn't her. She left as peacefully as one can exit the world. The horror that her body went through had no effect on her whatsoever.

My mom explained it like this: You're driving in your car, day after day, year after year. The parts start wearing out, but you keep driving the car anyway. As the years pass, more and more parts break or stop working properly. The car is still running, but barely. Eventually, trying to get the car to work is so difficult that the best option is to get out of the car, so you step out of the car. Whatever happens to the car after that point does not affect you, because you are no longer in the car.

It's hard to think of Mali not in her body because before her death, every time I saw her, she and her body were one. But as she was injected and drifted to sleep, the Mali that we knew and loved stepped out of the car. She had been spending so much energy lately just to turn on the motor and the engine didn't run smoothly like it used to. It was hard for us to see the car that used to go from zero to 60 in three seconds just putter around at 25. We knew the car was no longer useful for Mali, and she knew it, too. When the time came, she willingly got out of the car, off to explore new things. The car was destroyed, but Mali was long gone by then.

What sits on the shelf is not my dog. When I return home from college for the summer, we plan to spread the ashes at a favorite hiking spot. Initially, I was bothered that Mali would sit on a shelf for a month waiting for my return. But then I realized that what we will be spreading is simply the remains of the car. The driver is somewhere else, probably having a wonderful time chasing lizards and napping.

Mali enjoying the sunshine, fall 2009