An Empty Collar

By Marshall MacFarlane 
 

      I bet most families have one or two. At the very least, someone has encountered it– either as a child, or maybe as an adult. I have one in an old box of bird-dog stuff. A reflective one with a bell. I’ve seen them in frames; I’ve seen them hung up in barns; I’ve seen them hung on little homemade crosses. Today, I had one on the seat next to me – an empty collar. An hour ago, that collar held a little pal, a family member, a sometimes antagonist – hardest of all, it belonged to what I imagine, was my wife’s all-time best friend. I can’t imagine many things more sad – than an empty collar. 

      I’ve done a lot of hard things in my life, but this one is right up there with the hardest. Driving home from Tempe to Johnson Ranch, I was trying to eat Jack in the Box, watch the road, and chase away my sniffles. For once, I was dreading my arrival home; dreading my entrance; fearing my “welcome home” hug from my wife, Karole. Relieved in a way – the hardest part, logistically, was over. “All over but the cryin’” , as they say. Terrified, though – what would I ever say to Karole?

      Heck – Browzee wasn’t even my dog! She’d been with Karole longer than I had – twice as long in fact. Been there through jobs, boyfriends, college – you name it. Browzee had been the constant in Karole’s life – for 14 long years. Any tears I shed for Browzee – I think deep down, were shed for Karole. Browzee had lived a long, rich life with Karole. A mostly black cocker/terrier mix, she had earned her handle due to her light colored eyebrows. Always spunky and happy – she lived for her walks with K. They used to go on journeys that were miles long, in the old days in Tempe. Cantankerous at times – Browzee and I often feuded over her proclivity to dig through the trash. The last couple of years, though, hadn’t been kind to Ol Browz. Her little body had been wracked with several ailments. Her breathing was failing; she couldn’t control her bladder like she used to. She couldn’t jump up on the bed anymore. The last week, she had developed diarrhea and stopped eating. Even Karole couldn’t delay the inevitable, any longer. We always say “it’s the kind thing to do” or “we do it out of love”, but that certainly doesn’t make it any easier.

      I believe in my heart, that Browzee came out ahead, in this deal. She’s up there, somewhere – with all of our old friends – Woo-Woo, Puss N Boots, Duchess,  Eek & Meek, Mollie, Brownie, Zeb, Circa, and my old best friend – Jake. Funny, we can talk about them now, without a heavy heart. Hopefully, Browzee will be in that category someday. Karole – well, of course I love her – but I’m not good at these things. I never know when to talk, or what to say. She’s tough, though, and I expect she’ll be OK. Time heals all things, after all.

      The collar? It’s in my pickup, still on the seat. I figure Karole will ask about it some day, when she’s ready. That’s when I’ll bring it in. Oh – just in case, there’s a brand new leash out there, too.