The Empty Dog Dish

“Father, where should I put this?” James walked out of the kitchen carrying the feed dish of Precious, our little Boston terrier mix, who’d just died. We hadn’t had Precious since she was a puppy, but when Sandi’s brother passed away, his dog became part of our family, helping us deal with our loss.

Now, we had to deal with our loss of her, too, and that blow hit hard.

To make matters worse, Precious was one of the sweetest dogs I’ve ever known. A good-natured pooch, friendly to everyone, she roughhoused with me on the bed when I returned from work. In the evening, she snuggled up beside me when I relaxed in the recliner, and, whenever I picked her up for a hug-and-cuddle session, she made a soft noise that I took for the canine equivalent of purring.

“I’ll handle it, son.” I took the heavy bowl into the kitchen where I scrubbed it spotless.

What has humanity ever done to deserve dogs? Cats demand attention on their terms, but a dog soaks up cuddling like a dried sponge absorbs a raindrop. People let one another down with a regularity that would inspire envy in a ticking clock, but dogs are born perfect.

“What are we going to do, now that she’s gone?”

“Dealing with a feed dish that no one uses anymore is just the first part.” I still have to learn how to walk straight across the floor where I once dodged and weaved, how to avoid trips down the pet food aisle, how to keep my hand from reaching for her favorite treat.

I dried her bowl and tucked it away in the closet, on the top shelf.

“We’ll remember her, James. As long as we keep her in our hearts, Precious will always be with us.”

William R. Bartlett lives in Belton with his family.