“Well, Missy, there were only three choices. Years ago, we chose walnut for Suzy. You never met Suzy. She was an old good dog. We got you to help mitigate Rocky’s energy toward her. We chose cherry for Rocky because the pattern reminded us of his brindle. That left us with natural.”

“I would have preferred a hickory urn, as from the mockernut hickory tree on the path to the lake.”

“I’m sorry, Missy. They didn’t offer hickory. And truth be told, you deserved a mahogany urn, with delicate inlay. But the vet school didn’t offer that either.”

“Well,” Missy’s spirit sighed. “Such is life. How is that little fellow Huey doing?”

“Okay-ish. We wish you’d been able to stay around to teach him a few more things. How are you?”

“Good. Liberated. I ran into your dad the other day, Marica. He’s not a dog guy but he is a man of sterling character. The stories he told of your younger days…. you should be ashamed.”

“We’re getting off track here, Missy.

“Ah so. Dear Friend Rocky and I have a dinner date with John’s mom, Bobbie. She’s cooking Chech-Mex and her kitchen floor is going to be heavenly.”

“Love you, Missy.”

“Love you, too. Marica.”