I hadn't heard back from the vet yet about the ashes of my lil' puppy, so I decided to give them a call. Apparently it's not a week to ten days. More like two to three weeks! ARGH! I want my dog back! I swear, the container his ashes come in better be hand-made by Italian craftsmen with delicately applied gold leaf done by the skilled Inca pygmie magicians who only use their toes for the amount of time it's taking.
Just miss him lots... But I guess the time it's taking should give me time to create a little place to put the ashes, seeing as I don't have a mantle piece. Just not quite sure where he'll go yet. And in some ways, I'm scared that I'll not want to see his ashes container because it'll just remind me of how insanely badly it hurt to have him put down and that I should have fought for him instead, no matter what. But that's probably just the selfish perspective.
Should think of the happy times instead.
"I fink so, Brain, but balancing a family and a career? Whew! It's all too much for me!" - Pinky.