“Is it time, Mum?” Ashley asks for at least the third time.
“Almost. We’re just waiting for Dad.”
“Tell him to hurry up.”
“George!” I shout. “Are you almost done? The kids are waiting.”
George comes in from the garden, his face and hands smeared with dirt. “Hang on while I get changed,” he says.
“You’ve got dirt all over your face,” says Tom. “You look like that man in Mary Poppins.”
“A sweep.” Says Ashley smugly. “Sweeps used to clean chimneys in the olden days.”
Tom ignores his sister who, at twelve, knows everything. “What are we doing again?” He asks.
“It’s Paddy’s funeral,” I say, fighting back tears. “Remember, when someone you love dies you have a funeral. To say goodbye.”
Tom grasps my hand, his wide eyes filling with tears. “Why did he die, Mum? Was he sick?”
“No, but he was very old,” I repeat for the umpteenth time. “He had a good life though, especially since he came to live with us.”
“How old was he?”
“I’m not sure exactly, but very old.”
“You and Dad are old.” Tom’s lower lip begins to quiver. “Will you die too?”
I sigh, wondering how to explain to a ten-year old that thirty-seven is not old. I’m saved by George’s return. He’s had a quick shower but missed a patch of dirt on one ear. I wipe it away with the corner of the tea towel.
“So, are we all ready?” He asks.
The children nod.
“Time to say goodbye then,” George says. “What do you remember most about Paddy, kids?”
“Well, when he first came to live with us he was always hungry. He used to eat all the time.”
“Yeah.” Ashley smiles, though her eyes are wet with tears. “He ate heaps more than me.
You were always complaining about how much it cost to feed him.”
“That’s right,” Tom chimes in. “Mum said it was because he never sat still. He liked catching rabbits in the woods.”
“And remember how he used to watch the kids play cricket in the park?” George adds.
“When one of them missed a catch he would fetch the ball and take it back to them.”
“But then he got old,” Tom says, his expression sad again. “And all he did was sit on the back veranda and watch the birds.”
“And snore,” I add with a grimace, remembering the racket he made.
George opens the back door and we all file into the garden. Ashley has a photo of Paddy and Tom is carrying the clippers we used to cut Paddy’s toenails with. That’s one job I won’t miss about the old fellow.
Under the big apple tree lies a pile of dirt next to a large hole. At the bottom of the hole the tip of Paddy’s tail pokes out from the old rug he loved to lie on.
With a deep sigh, George picks up the shovel. “Paddy was the best dog ever,” he says.
“Almost. We’re just waiting for Dad.”
“Tell him to hurry up.”
“George!” I shout. “Are you almost done? The kids are waiting.”
George comes in from the garden, his face and hands smeared with dirt. “Hang on while I get changed,” he says.
“You’ve got dirt all over your face,” says Tom. “You look like that man in Mary Poppins.”
“A sweep.” Says Ashley smugly. “Sweeps used to clean chimneys in the olden days.”
Tom ignores his sister who, at twelve, knows everything. “What are we doing again?” He asks.
“It’s Paddy’s funeral,” I say, fighting back tears. “Remember, when someone you love dies you have a funeral. To say goodbye.”
Tom grasps my hand, his wide eyes filling with tears. “Why did he die, Mum? Was he sick?”
“No, but he was very old,” I repeat for the umpteenth time. “He had a good life though, especially since he came to live with us.”
“How old was he?”
“I’m not sure exactly, but very old.”
“You and Dad are old.” Tom’s lower lip begins to quiver. “Will you die too?”
I sigh, wondering how to explain to a ten-year old that thirty-seven is not old. I’m saved by George’s return. He’s had a quick shower but missed a patch of dirt on one ear. I wipe it away with the corner of the tea towel.
“So, are we all ready?” He asks.
The children nod.
“Time to say goodbye then,” George says. “What do you remember most about Paddy, kids?”
“Well, when he first came to live with us he was always hungry. He used to eat all the time.”
“Yeah.” Ashley smiles, though her eyes are wet with tears. “He ate heaps more than me.
You were always complaining about how much it cost to feed him.”
“That’s right,” Tom chimes in. “Mum said it was because he never sat still. He liked catching rabbits in the woods.”
“And remember how he used to watch the kids play cricket in the park?” George adds.
“When one of them missed a catch he would fetch the ball and take it back to them.”
“But then he got old,” Tom says, his expression sad again. “And all he did was sit on the back veranda and watch the birds.”
“And snore,” I add with a grimace, remembering the racket he made.
George opens the back door and we all file into the garden. Ashley has a photo of Paddy and Tom is carrying the clippers we used to cut Paddy’s toenails with. That’s one job I won’t miss about the old fellow.
Under the big apple tree lies a pile of dirt next to a large hole. At the bottom of the hole the tip of Paddy’s tail pokes out from the old rug he loved to lie on.
With a deep sigh, George picks up the shovel. “Paddy was the best dog ever,” he says.