I’ve been thinking about all the pets I’ve had over the years – dogs and cats. They become a part of the family. We’ll have quite a menagerie when we get to Heaven. The first family dog I remember is Dusty, a female German Shepherd who rode herd on me when I was preschool age. (There will be a picture of the two of us in Her Daughter’s Dream in September.) After Dusty came Bullet, named after Roy Rogers’ loyal canine companion. Bullet saved me from a neighbor dog. I have never seen such a fight like that, nor do I ever want to see another. The other dog was larger, but Bullet was faster and smarter. When he got the other dog by the throat, my dad had to make him let go.
Bullet lived to the ripe old age of sixteen. Mom and Dad had him cremated. They couldn’t seem to part with him. They kept his ashes in a box with a bronze plaque on top. He spent the next two decades on the bookshelf. When Mom passed away, my brother “inherited” the box. He offered it to me, and I graciously declined. (“No way!”) We both decided it was time Bullet had a proper burial. He now rests peacefully in a Northern California forest.
When Shabah passed away, we planned to mix his ashes with soil for a beautiful potted plant. We were surprised to find that our vet had Shabah’s remains sealed in a beautiful cedar box with his paw print on it. Life sure has it’s ironies….