We buried Toby under the cypress tree at the far end of our yard. Michael went to pick up his body from the veterinary clinic. They were nice enough to preserve his body until we could give him a proper burial. We travelled to the next town to find a pet cemetery to embalm his body. Natalie wanted to bury him in our backyard. She wanted him near her where she could visit him all the time. We placed him in the little wooden box engraved with his name. Toby was laid to rest with his favourite dog blanket, a red one with white bones all over it, and his favourite toy, an old, blue rubber ball. Natalie gave him her favourite doll, Olive, a raggedy Ann type of doll to keep him company, she said. I placed his collar and his leash next to him and caressed his head. Natalie reached out to touch him also but pulled back her hand with a soft gasp. The coldness and stiffness of his body surprised her and scared her a little. She shuddered and burst into tears as the coffin’s lid was gently closed on him. The drive back home to bury him was bleak. No one talked or made a sound.
I did not want her to be present for all this. I was afraid she might be more damaged at the sight of Toby’s dead body in a box. But the therapist said if she insisted on being there, she should be. She needed closure. We all did.
Michael woke up early that Sunday morning to dig the whole. Mother Nature cooperated that week with some unusually warm weather for the season. The earth was not frozen yet. Michael then came back home, took a shower, and put on his dark grey suit. Walking into the bathroom, we crossed paths, and his eyes were red. My brows shot up, surprised. He turned away from me and headed downstairs. He did like Toby, after all. Maybe even loved him.
Taking on Michael’s cue, Natalie and I donned nice sober outfits as well and headed into the yard. Michael lowered the coffin into the hole in the ground. Natalie threw in a bouquet of green holly and heather in bloom we bought for that occasion. Michael covered the coffin with the displaced soil, and once he was done, Natalie burst out into an uncontrollable cry. Michael scooped her up and brought her back home.
Still holding the white roses I had chosen for the occasion, I walk over to the little, white wooden cross marking Toby’s grave. Underneath Toby’s name, the words Forever Family.
Kneeling next to the cross, I lay the roses underneath it, and my eyes swell up. I close them, and tears wash down my face. Wiping my damp cheeks with the back of my hand, I control the quivering of my chin long enough to say something.
“Thank you, buddy, and I’m so sorry,” I tell him.
What more can I say? What do you say to someone who gave their life for yours? Let alone a dog?
Walking back to the house, I half expect to hear his soft, padded steps close behind me. But only a gentle autumn breeze shaking the cypress’s copper leaves and rustling the blue scarf wrapped around my neck breaks the silence of his absence.