Ashes to ashes

“What do you like best about Waffle?” I asked the littlest little human, as we drove back along the winding road towards our house.

Anna thought about this for a moment before replying, “I like his cute, furry face and his lovely eyes. And he always likes snuggling in front of the fire.”

“Would you be sad if he wasn’t around any more?”

Ever astute, Anna frowned at me. “Why are you asking about Waffle’s death?” she asked, simply.

Then it was my turn to think for a second. My queries were based on a conversation I’d had the previous day. How could I explain?

“A friend at work was telling me about his dog, Max who died last year,” I summed up.

“What happened?”

“The dog was old, just. And he had been sick for a while and he had to go to the vet’s to be put down?”

“Put down?”

O, God.

“Being put down means that, when a dog is really sick and he’s not going to get any better, he’s brought to the vets and he gets an injection to… put him to sleep.”

“To make him die?”

“That’s right.”

“And what happens after?”

Conscious that I was already oxter deep into this conversation, I had no choice other than to plough on, with cold apprehension as my guide.

“Well, I thought that after Max was put to sleep that he might be buried in the garden or something but instead of that, they had him cremated.”

“What’s that?”

O, God.

“Cremated means… when a dog dies… instead of being buried they are put into a box and burned.”

Anna’s eyes widened, taking on a definite shine. “Burnt? With fire?”

Ploughing on.

“It’s something that happens a lot in different countries, even for people. And in Max’s case, after the cremation the family was given his ashes in a box.”

“What are they going to do with his ashes?”

“Well, they still have them but the plan is that they are going to sprinkle Max’s ashes in his favourite part of the garden, the place the he liked to go and play.”

“And what then?”

“Well, as well as the ashes, the family were given little pieces of card that had Max’s footprints on them from the day that he was taken to the vets to be put to sleep, so that they’ll always remember him even after he’s gone.”

“Maybe they should keep the ashes and not sprinkle them in the garden.”

“Some people do that. After a dog or a person is cremated, they keep the ashes in a thing called an urn. It’s a special tub for the ashes that’s kept on a mantel piece or a shelf.”

“What if the churn –”

“Urn.”

“Urn… what if the urn was accidentally knocked over and the ashes spilled out and then their mam came in the with hoover and hoovered all the ashes up by mistake?”

“Well, hopefully that wouldn’t happen.”

“It might.”

“You’re right, it might. Maybe that’s why a lot of people sprinkle the ashes in a special place. Like, for Max, that special place was his favourite part of the garden. And then the family will always think of him being in his favourite place.”

Anna was silent for a long few moments as I mentally slapped myself in the forehead for bringing any of this up.

“Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“So what will happen if Waffle is old and sick. Would we have to bring him to the vet to have him put to sleep?”

O gawd!

“Well, it might not happen like that and anyway, Waffle has a lot of running about in him yet. You don’t have to worry about that for a long, long time.”

“What age will I be when Waffle… you know?”

“You’re seven now so, you’ll probably be about 18 or 19 or maybe even 20.”

“That’s not too old.” She chewed on her cheek for a moment. “Do you want to be cre – whatever it’s called when, you… you know?”

“Hmmm, I don’t know.”

“What is your favourite place where we could could sprinkle the ashes?”

“I don’t know. The kitchen, maybe.”

Anna scowled. We couldn’t sprinkle the ashes in the kitchen. Mam would definitely hoover them up then.” She thought for another moment. “What do you call that place where boys go to drink beer?”

“The pub?”

“Yeah, the pub!”

“I don’t know if that would work. I do like the pub, right enough.”

Anna laughed. “Some of the boys might get ashes in their beer.”

“Urgh!”

And she laughed a dirty cackle.

On that lighter note, I wondered if our conversation might have concluded without too much childhood trauma being inflicted. Anna fell silent as we navigated our way closer to the house. It was a cold, clear evening and the November sun had turned lazer-like as it slowly kissed the hills on the horizon.

“There might be frost tonight,” I said aloud, to no-one in particular. Anna turned to look at me as I navigated around the last bend before the house.

“Dad?”

“Yes, little friend?”

She looked up at me with eyes brimming with emotion.

“I’m gonna give Waffle the biggest hug ever when we get home.”

“Me too, wee friend.”

Anna sniffed and looked away. And then something suddenly dawned on her. “Really? Are you really gonna give Waffle the biggest hug ever.”

“Hmm, probably not.”

“Da-ddy! That’s not very nice.” She sniffed again, only this time in mock affront. “If you don’t start being nice, we’re going to sprinkle your ashes down the toilet!”

True story.