The Good, the Bad & the Beagle

by Burns, Catherine Lloyd

  That weekend, Mr. and Mrs. Morgan had an out-of-town wedding so Mary stayed over. Veronica taught Mary how to bathe Cadbury. They cleared out the tub, removing the razors and combs and shampoo and conditioner so Cadbury could take a bath. Just as Esme would, Veronica adjusted and readjusted the temperature many times until it was perfect. She and Mary lifted him into the water and Veronica rubbed his body with rosemary oil to stimulate his circulation. She rinsed him carefully and rubbed him gently with lavender oil to soothe him. She dried him with her own towel.

  “Here, my baby,” Mary said, and handed Veronica a cup of hot chocolate. “You are taking such good care of your friend.”

  “Are you crying, Mary?”

  “No. My baby, I am not crying,” Mary said, wiping her face. “Something is in my eye. Should I be crying?”

  “No. Because everything’s going to be all right,” Veronica said.

  “That is right. Everything will be how it is meant to be,” Mary said. She kissed Veronica before going back to the kitchen. But she only kissed her one time.

  * * *

  When Ms. Padgett handed back the projects a few days later, Veronica was in a panic.

  “I had such a good time this week with your projects! Great work. And such a diverse display. I read poems and looked at pictures and I even heard a song,” Ms. Padgett said. Auden Georges was on the edge of her chair. She’d made a watercolor and was really pleased with herself. “You should all be very proud,” Ms. Padgett said as she glided around the room handing back the projects.

  Veronica’s finger itched like crazy. She rubbed it against her uniform. She had nothing to be proud of. Becky Shickler got her paper back and hugged Darcy. Ms. Padgett came to Veronica’s table. Sylvie had written what looked like a dissertation. It was long and Ms. Padgett said, “Sylvie, this was so thought provoking. I loved how you wrote about Monet painting his wife as she was dying.” She put Sylvie’s pages on the table. “Athena, wonderful work. You too, Sarah-Lisa.” Ms. Padgett handed back their work. “Veronica,” Ms. Padgett said and Veronica swallowed hard. “You and Melody worked so well together. Lovely.” She placed a paper in front of Veronica with the names Melody Jenkins and Veronica Morgan printed across the top and a big red A in Ms. Padgett’s loopy handwriting.

  “You look surprised,” Ms. Padgett said. “You shouldn’t be. Hard work is rewarded in my class.”

  Veronica smiled weakly. Why had Melody let her get away with this? To torture her? Then it occurred to her. It was a sign. Instead of being punished for being mean to Melody, she was being rewarded for her devotion to Cadbury. Cadbury was the prize.

  Closed Windows

  When Veronica got home from school she was surprised to discover her parents.

  “Why aren’t you at work?”

  “Your father and I have something difficult to discuss with you,” Mrs. Morgan said. Cadbury lay limp at her feet.

  “But what about your patients? Shouldn’t you go back?”

  “Veronica,” her father said, “Mary told us Cadbury hasn’t eaten for days.”

  “He isn’t hungry. He is resting.”

  Mr. and Mrs. Morgan looked at each other as though they had this all planned out.

  “Honey, I know it’s hard. But it is time to start making arrangements,” her mother said.

  For three weeks Veronica had worked day and night maintaining a positive attitude. She always gave him his medicine at the right time. She fed him with a spoon when he was having trouble eating. She cleaned out his water bowl two or three times a day. She researched about rosemary and lavender oils. She bathed him so carefully. She had tried as hard as a person could try to protect him. But she had obviously failed. And now her parents were asking her to abandon hope. She looked into Cadbury’s eyes but he didn’t see her.

  Darkness

  The next day Veronica couldn’t bear the idea of going to school. She stayed in bed with Cadbury until it was time to go to Dr. Harskirey’s. At three thirty the sky was pitch-black as if all the daylight had been stolen from the heavens. It was the sign Veronica had been waiting for. Everything was not fine even though she had stayed the course, even though she had done her part, even though she had been good.

  “Honey, he’s too heavy. Let me carry him for you,” her mother said when they got out of the taxi.

  Not eating had made Cadbury both lighter and heavier than Veronica expected.

  “Please, honey,” her mother begged, “let me help you.”

  “No,” Veronica said.

  Cadbury sat on Veronica’s lap while Esme helped her mother with the paperwork. Veronica wouldn’t let herself cry because more than anything, she didn’t want Cadbury to be afraid. This was the last thing she could give him. She would not let him die in fear and without honor. She kissed him gently everywhere on his body.

  “I love you. I love you. I love you. You are the best dog in the world,” Veronica told him over and over.

  “Check cremation,” Esme told Mrs. Morgan. “It is very important that Veronica keeps the ashes.”

  Veronica’s mother did as instructed and brought Veronica a catalog of urns to look at. She stroked her daughter’s hair much the way Veronica was stroking Cadbury.

  “Honey, will you pick something for Cadbury?” she said softly.

  Veronica was queasy like her first day of pre-K when she didn’t understand how to do anything, even where to put her coat, until the teacher told her. She followed her mother’s instructions now as she had followed the teacher’s then. She chose a wooden box.

  When the forms were finished, Esme led them to a special procedural room in the basement. It was a much warmer room than where Cadbury had been examined and there were three thick blankets draping the metal table. Veronica placed Cadbury gently in the middle of them. She lifted his ear and told him how much she loved him. She repeated it over and over while Esme held him and Dr. Harskirey shaved a little patch of fur on his leg. Veronica’s mother held her daughter while Dr. Harskirey administered the injection. It took seven minutes.

  They went to the vet with Cadbury and they left the vet without Cadbury. There was nothing to say. Veronica held on to her mother as though she were blind.

  “I’ve got you,” her mother said. She steered her daughter through the early evening streets. Veronica couldn’t see beyond the giant drops of rain that were suddenly falling everywhere. She leaned into her mother and closed her eyes. She heard the clicking of her mother’s purse opening and closing and then she felt a soft Kleenex under her eyes and dabbing at her cheeks. That was when she realized it wasn’t rain that was making it hard to see. Her tears were the problem.

  Part 4

  A Very Long Weekend

  Home was where Cadbury used to be but Cadbury was gone. Even though his ball was on the floor near Veronica’s bed. Even though his lavender and rosemary oils were still on the side of the tub. Even though his leash was by the front door. Even though his toys were in a pile by the couch and his plaid bed was in the den next to the Scrabble set. Even though he was everywhere, he was no more.

  Her mother suggested a nice bath. Veronica didn’t have any better ideas so she stood in the bathroom hoping the sound of the roaring taps filling the tub would drown out her thoughts. She was handed yet another cup of tea, just the way she liked: strong and sweet and milky. Veronica drank it but she let the bath get cold. She couldn’t be bothered to get undressed. She hadn’t let herself cry in the vet’s office. She had cried on the street but didn’t feel it. She wanted to cry now, but nothing came out. She left the bathroom forgetting to drain the bathwater.

  Mr. and Mrs. Morgan were lying together on the couch, her mother’s head resting on her father’s chest. When they heard Veronica come in they sat up and her mother dabbed her eyes. This was Veronica’s loss and it was confusing to see them so upset.

  “Should we build a shrine, would that be helpful? You could keep adding his things as we find them,” her father offered.

  “Woul
d you like to keep a grief journal?” her mother suggested.

  “You don’t have to go to school tomorrow. We made you an appointment with Dr. Snope. Grief is something we all need help with. Hard to process on your own,” her father said.

  Veronica loved her parents more than any other people in the world, which was why she couldn’t tell them that she wished she had never been born, that they had never gotten her a dog. She couldn’t tell them that the sight of them sitting on the couch, drinking their wine, made her sick. She wished she could tell them to be quiet. For the love of God, just be quiet.

  The next day she saw Dr. Snope. But the only part of the visit that stuck in her head was the way central casting seemed to have populated the streets of New York City with dogs. Little dogs, big dogs, dogs that had long ears like Cadbury, dogs circling trees, dogs loping alongside their owners, noses to the ground sniffing, dogs pulling their owners, owners yanking on leashes trying to pull their dogs, dogs looking up with soulful eyes at their owners. Dogs. Wonderful and loving and loyal. Man’s best friend. Dogs were everywhere.

  And there was Cadbury! He jumped and licked her legs and her hands. Veronica threw out her arms and pulled him toward her. He smelled like corn chips and toast and his tongue was warm and almost dry as he licked her face. But it wasn’t Cadbury. It was just another beagle. A beagle just like Cadbury except that he was alive.

  Her Cat Died

  Cadbury died in the middle of January, five and a half weeks after he was diagnosed by Dr. Harskirey. Between her parents’ concern and Dr. Snope’s questioning, Veronica might as well have been placed under a microscope for observation. For a girl who liked to be invisible under ordinary circumstances, being scrutinized like this, under extraordinary circumstances, was torture.

  Mary tried to be casual about her furtive attention paying, but even she was getting on Veronica’s nerves. Everyone wanted Veronica to be okay because they loved her and couldn’t bear to see her suffer. It was a vicious cycle. She was not okay, they wanted her to be, she felt worse for making them worry, and so it went.

  Hopefully Randolf would distract her. She climbed the marble staircase Tuesday morning as Sarah-Lisa Carver, Athena Mindendorfer, Darcy Brown, Auden Georges, and everyone’s new best friend, Melody Jenkins, looked over the railing. Veronica felt like a laboratory animal.

  “Look. There’s Veronica,” she heard Melody say.

  “Why are we staring at her?” Darcy asked.

  “Her cat died,” Auden Georges said.

  “She didn’t have a cat,” Athena said.

  Ms. Padgett came out of the classroom and ushered the girls inside. When Veronica reached the top of the stairs, Ms. Padgett hugged her. It was all Veronica could imagine wanting. But Ms. Padgett’s embrace made grief burn behind her eyelids. Veronica felt naked and out of control.

  She entered the classroom, keeping her head down. When she sat, Ms. Padgett led the room in Morning Verse.

  I look upon the universe so tall,

  The sun warms my heart and the moon guides my soul.

  The stars above sparkle and the earth below informs my feet.

  The beast and the pebble, the rain and the dawn,

  Side by side.

  Harmony to all things, great and small.

  The sound of Morning Verse was like the voice of an old friend.

  But the rest of the day wouldn’t be so easy. Without a script, Veronica didn’t know if she’d be able to speak or what she would say.

  When Ms. Padgett was going over homework, Veronica raised her hand to ask permission to go to the bathroom.

  She hid in the very last stall and cried. She took time out of math, poetry, and French to cry in there too. She even cried during the times she was in the bathroom because she had to go to the bathroom. She cried silently and she cried noisily. Sometimes she cried and instead of feeling sad, she felt wonder about the human body, her body in particular. How could it produce so many tears? She cried because her body knew no other way. Surely I have no more tears left, she thought over and over. But she did.

  * * *

  At dinner she pushed her food around. “Eat something,” her mother said. Mrs. Morgan spooned rice on her daughter’s plate.

  “Please try,” her father said.

  “It will make you feel better,” her mother said. “I mean, of course it isn’t going to literally make you feel better…”

  “What your mother means, dear, is that you have to eat because grieving takes a lot of energy and you have to keep up your strength.”

  “I think that is what you meant, Marvin,” her mother snapped. “I am perfectly capable of speaking for myself and enjoy doing so, in fact. Must you constantly interpret for me?”

  “Marion, I’m sorry, I simply was trying—”

  “Marvin, you are aware that I function each and every day without you there, by my side, interpreting and helping and explaining?”

  Her parents bickered until they seemed to remember Veronica was there. Then they spoke at once, apologizing over each other.

  “You poor, poor girl,” her father said.

  “Tomorrow will be a month since he’s been gone,” her mother said. “That is a milestone. We care so much about all you’re feeling.”

  “We care so much, darling.”

  Veronica was glad they cared. If only they could make her feel better.

  The Mourner’s Kaddish

  Teachers didn’t seem to care how much time she spent in the bathroom. They almost acted as if they thought it was a good idea. She sat on the toilet lid with her feet up so no one could see her. Voices she didn’t recognize joked during math. After lunch she heard the unmistakable voice of one she did.

  “My grandmother died and I didn’t even cry,” Sarah-Lisa said.

  Veronica squeezed her knees tight and froze.

  “Why is she crying all the time about an animal? My grandmother was a person and my mother told me not to cry. She said it would make people feel sorry for me.”

  Mr. and Mrs. Morgan told her to expect this kind of reaction from people, but it was still hurtful. “We live in a culture unable to process grief,” her parents warned. “People respond by shutting down or by running away, as though death were something contagious. You really will learn from this experience, Veronica. It will make you wiser.” Whatever there was to learn from heartache wasn’t anything worth knowing. She would rather stay dumb.

  “You were very brave, Sarah-Lisa, when your grandmother died. Very brave,” Athena said. She and Sarah-Lisa must have been standing in front of the mirror combing their hair and applying lip gloss and checking their teeth. Someone else entered the bathroom. Veronica recognized Darcy’s shoes under the door. Becky’s shoes followed a moment later.

  “Are you talking about Veronica?” Becky asked. “She sure is a sad sack. Was it her grandmother?”

  “It was her dog. And I don’t see what the big deal is, at all,” Sarah-Lisa said. “Plus, what she did to Melody was awful!”

  “What did she do to Melody?”

  “She made Melody put her name on the Impressionist project,” Sarah-Lisa declared.

  “Poor Melody,” Becky said.

  “Yeah, that wasn’t so nice,” Darcy said.

  There it was. No one wanted her. Fine with her because she had nothing to say to anyone unless it was on the subject of misery. Her knowledge on that subject was unprecedented. She could wipe the floor with all of them. Soon she’d be reading her way through lunch like Sylvie. Too bad they couldn’t be loners together.

  Shiva

  It seemed perfectly natural to take a kitchen knife and cut her Randolf blouse that night. So she did.

  “What are you doing!” her mother yelled, letting the dishwasher slam shut.

  “I am sitting shiva, for Cadbury,” Veronica said. She pulled at the little incision she’d made. It created a long rip. She put the knife back in the drawer and admired her newly torn blouse.

  Veronica’s grandfather had
died when she was five. Her grandmother had ripped her dress to symbolize her torn heart. Her grandmother sat in a hard wooden chair to symbolize her pain. The mirrors in her grandmother’s house were covered too, symbolizing the uselessness of vanity in the face of tragedy. For seven days Veronica watched her grandmother wear the same torn dress and sit on the same hard chair. According to her mother, she didn’t brush her hair or shower the whole time. Morning and evening ten men gathered in the living room to form a minyan. They wore black coats, and their bodies rocked as their voices rhythmically whispered the mourner’s kaddish: Yisgadal v’yiskadash sh’may rabah. The women were allowed to join in and say Amen. Veronica had no idea what the words meant, but by the second day the prayer held her like a womb.

  She had been fascinated by how her grandmother gave herself to her grief. She was also deeply moved by the community of men and women who showed up every day. The women brought food and sat with her grandmother telling stories. Sometimes they made her grandmother laugh. Sometimes they cried with her. Sometimes they just sat there and didn’t say a thing.

  When her parents sat shiva for her grandmother it lasted only three days. The only mirror in the house that was covered was the one in the front hall. And her mother said the prayer alone. There was no minyan of ten men. Veronica felt gypped. No one sat for days telling stories and very few brought homemade food.

  She had never known what the prayer meant, but when the words tumbled out of her mouth this evening, her body understood them. Yisgadal v’yiskadash sh’may rabah … Her grandmother had clung to those words as though her life depended on them and Veronica did the same. Oseh shalom bimromav, hu ya’aseh shalom alaynu, v’al kol yisra’el, v’imru amen.