I had a dog. He was the perfect dog and the one I have measured every dog by since he passed. All have fallen short. Sometimes I hold a picture of Angus (as that was his name) up to my current dog and tell her “This is what a good dog looks like”. She is unfazed.
Angus was the kind of dog who I could leave off leash at all times and he never got into trouble or went far from me. As a matter of fact he always kept me in his sight. We would go for walks in the woods and he would run ahead, but only as far as he could still see me. My brother and other family members would try and take him for a walk and he always end up running back to where I was. When I would walk him in the neighborhood, he never molested passing pedestrians but kept his nose to what ever wonderful scent had caught his attention. He would run ahead of me, as far as the corner and then sit and wait for me. He would never cross the street without my go ahead. In fact, I could throw a ball into the street and he would only go as far as the curb before he would sit and wait for me to either tell him to get the ball or get the ball myself.
His greatness extended further. I could put a plate with a steak on the floor and he would not touch it. He would never touch something I told him not to.
He was gentle with children and other animals as well. I have a several photos of him with a baby robin on his back. We had been nursing the robin back to health and it took its first flight to Angus’ back. Once, I had the robin (Sam) outside while I was bathing Angus and I lost track of where Sam had gotten to. I heard him singing and I looked down and he was bathing under Angus enjoying the water dripping off the dog.
He was a wonderful dog.
So when Angus passed it was a devastating time for me. His kidneys failed when he was around 11 years old. I nursed him as long as I could but ultimately he could no longer stand and I needed to put him down. Even the veterinarian cried when she euthanized him.
I decided to have Angus privately cremated. I knew exactly what I was going to do with the ashes; spread them on my brother’s lake in Wisconsin. Angus loved nothing better than to go up there with me to hike and swim. He would fetch a stick or play keep away in the water until he was absolutely exhausted. It was the perfect place to spread his ashes.
After several days, the veterinarian’s office called and said Angus’ ashes were ready to be picked up. When I arrived they handed me a small cardboard box. I carried it out to the car and somberly opened the carton.
You can imagine my surprise when I pulled out a tin can. It was not a decorative tin can, or even a can with a lid. It was a can like you would find if you pealed the label from a can of pork and beans. It was a tin can in every sense of the word; it required a can opener to open! I burst out laughing.
I immediately called my friend Juanita and asked her to meet me at the “South Office” which was code for a bar we sometimes met at on the way home. When she arrived I place the can on the bar, looked at her and said “Guess what that is”.
Juanita picked up the can, shook it (it sounded like a can of coffee grounds), placed it back on the counter, paused and said “No!”
“Oh yes!” I replied. We both chuckled and hooted over the absurdity of it. A can of dog ashes that required a can opener!
I put Angus down in February, but it wasn’t until July that I had an opportunity to take his ashes up to my brothers to formally scatter them across the lake. My brother got out the canoe and I got into the prow with my can of Angus’ ashes while he pushed off. We paddled a short distance and stopped. I gazed around at the lake and remembered Angus’ happiness while he swam and enjoyed the wild surroundings. I bowed my head in grief and solemnity.
Then I reached for the can opener…
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