RIP, Doc Oc

While in Alaska, we got a call from our pet-sitter. Luke's guinea pig, the aptly-named Doc Oc (what could be more villainous than kicking litter and turds onto my floor?) had, sadly, died. We weren't sad for ourselves, really, since we always wound up caring for this messy, biting animal, but we knew that Luke would be very upset when he discovered that his only pet was dead.

We decided not to tell Luke about Doc Oc's demise until we got home from vacation. Luckily, when we arrived home at 7 a.m. from a night of flying, Luke was asleep. Sleep-deprivation was not something we needed to add to the mix when we were gingerly telling Luke about the death of his beloved villian.

The day before we flew home, I had casually said to Luke, "You know, when I was a little girl, my dog cocoa died. She was very old and just fell asleep and never woke up."

Knowing Luke and his intensity, as well as his great love of television and junk food, I ad-libbed a little extra, throwing in, "and my parents let me eat lots of candy and watch a lot of T.V. the day cocoa died since I was sad."

So when Luke woke up from his long nap that day we came home, he asked if our pet sitter was in the house.

"No, Luke, Charlie just came to our house to take care of Doc Oc but he slept at his house," I told him, realizing that now was the time to break the news to Luke.

With a nervous stomach, I told Luke that Charlie had called a few days before and told us that Doc Oc had died. Luke cried. He cried quite a bit. But he didn't scream. He didn't freak out. His reaction seemed appropriate.

And then, when he was done crying, he asked me, "Can I watch T.V. and eat candy now?" And I said yes.

I wasn't sure what we should do with the body, but I knew I wanted it out of my freezer. (Yes, we told Charlie to put the body in a plastic bag and put it in the freezer. What else were we to do? And, too, this carries on a family tradition that involves a dog and a suitcase and a deep-freeze.) So I told Luke that we would decorate a special box and put Doc Oc in it. Then we would have a memorial service and leave the box out in the hall for the pet buriers to pick up. That's all this city-dwellin' mom could come up with on two hours of sleep.

Luke made a great box, and at the service Luke asked me to say a prayer and he would share some of his favorite memories of his pet.

"Dear God," I prayed, "Please be with Doc Oc up in heaven and tell him that we miss him. Please give him lots of space to run around in and lots of produce to eat. Please take good care of him until Luke comes to heaven, too, in a long, long time. Amen."

Luke seemed satisfied with the prayer, and began his part of the service, speaking in a strange, sing-song sort of monotone.

"I remember when Doc Oc bit me on the finger," Luke said. "I remember when he ate his food. I remember when he sat in his cage."

Craig and I, in our sleep-deprived states, were beginning to get a little hysterical at this point, so we cut Luke off and carried the box to the hall.

A half hour later or so, after Craig took a furtive trip to the dumpster, we told Luke that the pet buriers had come. And in his sugared-up T.V. daze, he raced out to the hall with a look of childish, joyful belief, happy that the mysterious pet buriers had done their job.

I hope you are somewhere with a lot of space for running and a lot of produce to eat, Doc Oc.