J/BLØG

The vet rang me today that his ashes would be ready for collection — I know he is no longer there, but still I can’t help feeling a bit apprehensive about it. Tonight will be the first time, “he” returns to the house again after I drove him to the vet on Tuesday last week.

The house has been much quieter, colder, without him.

I drove to the clinic from work, and as soon as I parked, waves of emotions just hit me. I half expected that I would see Indy running towards me, smiling widely. It had been a long and dark week, since he left us. I sat for a couple of minutes in the car, weeping. This was our routine when I brought Indy to the vet. I’d park the car, open the passenger-side door, and then carry him safely down to the ground.

I steeled myself to walk to the receptionist – and asked for Indy’s ashes. The nurse went and picked the bag for me. Thankfully she didn’t make any small talk, as I might not be able to control my emotions, had she done it. However, as soon as I put the bag in the car – seeing his paw print and nose print, and the tube containing his ashes, I just cried.

When I arrived home, it was as if I had brought him home with me. He spent 13 of his 16 years at this house. I put the bag down on the kitchen bench, and opened the envelope containing his cremation certificate. His name is written along with my family name.

I used to chuckle about this – why would the vet put the owner’s surname on the animal. Now I understand — after I said my goodbye to Indy. It was a privilege for me to have him as part of my family.