Dog is love

Salon writes, The bag of ashes is no bigger than a dimebag, but dense with the gray remains of what had been a beloved dog. The woman beside me murmurs his name—Poochie—when she takes the bag from a vet tech who can only say that he’s sorry. I instantly wish I hadn’t heard the name, as if the mere mention of poor doomed Poochie will jinx my Tova, my German shepherd. She’s flattened all 80 pounds of herself against my legs, smacking her mouth and whimpering. We are here because Tova began pacing my apartment, her tongue shooting out of her snout; she worked her jaws and licked the air. The vet tech…

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