I got the call today that the cremains of my beloved dog were ready for pickup.

I wasn’t ready.

When I prepared her for the trip to the morgue Saturday, I wrapped her in my fluffy pink robe.

It was the closest thing to sending me with her.

I didn’t want the robe back – in fact I think I said burn it.

I don’t remember. It was a terrible weekend.

I pulled up to the vet and parked in the bereavement spot.

The first thing I saw was that pink robe, and I wanted to retch. My memories of wrapping it around her when she passed are raw, and gripped me. I knew Mitzi was here and it was time for this to come full circle.

The dear vet tech that picked her up from my house was there, and she got the bag with Mitzi’s paw print and the rosewood box that is her body’s earthly resting place.

Wrapped in a blue velvet bag, I untied the strings and pulled the box out.

I sat the box on my lap and drove home with my hand on the top.

I’m so glad I chose the rosewood box – it is carved with flowers, leaning up, a nature scene – and Mitzi loved being outside.

I’m a texture girl, and the divots and edges brought me comfort as I drove home, tears rolling down my face in a continual stream.

I’ve told my family that when I’m buried, I want my dog to be buried with me.

She really was my best girl.

I miss you, Mitzi girl.