Irony

The day Ron picked up Scout’s ashes from the vet, he also stopped by the florist shop and picked up a graceful little flower arrangement to put on the table next to the little velvet bag from the crematory. 

I saved part the arrangement and hung it up to dry, thinking I would keep it to put in a shadowbox with a few of Scout’s things.

Apparently the dried flower fell down, because Riggy found it on the floor this evening and tore it into tiny pieces before I could stop him. I yelled at him, gave him a good scruff shake, and then suddenly burst into simultaneous laughter and tears as it occurred to me that Scout wouldn’t have been the least bit upset that Riggy had torn up her flowers; if anything, she would have been overcome with glee at the prospect of tearing something up and scattering it all over three rooms.

Life would be intolerably dull without a feisty little terrier to shake things up….

Emily