We buried Gus yesterday.
Jon went to get him, where they were keeping him in the freezer at the Vet, while I finished digging the hole. We had been waiting for the ground to thaw.
It’s a strange thing, but I feel like some of my dogs need to be cremated and some need to rest in the ground. I don’t know how I make these decisions, it’s just a feeling. And so far, with each dog that has died, Jon and I have felt the same way about it.
We buried Gus between two flowering bushes, a Rose of Sharon and a Hydrangea. I dug up one of the old Hostas that were growing on the farm when we bought the house and planted it on top of him. Hostas feel prehistoric to me, like they’re survivors. I like the idea of such an old and hardy plant marking Gus’ grave.
I hugged Jon as he said a few words over the grave, but I had none myself, except to say goodbye. I felt my actions, the digging and planting, were my words.
It started to rain just as we finished raking the soil back into place.
Then I went to my studio and finished working on my Gus quilt. I tacked it with red yarn, Fate sleeping on the floor in front of the quilt, as I tied each knot.
It’s good to have Gus’ body home again, although I feel his spirit left, for what ever happens next, weeks ago.