Bow-Bow died in Yolanda’s arms a little past 11pm. Screaming, she woke a few neighbors. Running to a nearby flat, Yolanda found much needed comfort and help. Bow-Bow was wrapped in a blanket, his little doggie eyes were closed. Beside him, a candle was lit.
“Don’t blow this candle out until it extinguishes on it’s own,” her neighbor said.
The next morning I called Yolanda and asked as usual, “Are you ready?”
Silence followed. And then a whimper. “Bow-Bow died.”
My Canadian friend didn’t walk with me to the ferry pier that morning. She had to do something with her 13-year-old blind, kidney troubled (and now dead) pet.
I sat alone on the ferry eager to catch a few winks. Soon I was interrupted by one of Yolanda’s Chinese co-workers.
“How are you Joanne?” I asked as she sat next to me.
She responded: “Where’s Yolanda?”
After I relayed the sad news, Joanne was curious about how Bow-Bow was being taken care of. She asked, “Who will burn the dog?”
“Uh, in our culture, we usually just bury our pets.” I explained.
With a look of disbelief Joanne said, “It’s easy to take the dead animals into the woods and just burn them. Then you can scatter the, how do you say?”
“Ashes,” I interrupted.
“Yeah, ashes,” Joanne finished.
The ferry bobbed up and down. I was going to miss out on a much needed morning snooze.
Joanne continued: “What did Yolanda do with the dog after it died?”
“Well,” I answered, “it was wrapped in a blanket.”
“But where did she put it?”
“I don’t know.” I said. “I guess in her living room.”
Joanne gasped. She insisted, “Yolanda needed to put the dog in the refrigerator!”
Living in a foreign land, no amount of preparation can prepare you for moments like these. How do you respond? How do you adjust to norms so different than yours?
Slowly, I said, “I don’t think Yolanda thought of that. It’s just not what we’re used to doing with our pets.”
Joanne replied, “We always put dead pets in the refrigerator before we burn them.”
Of course we do. How silly of me not to know.
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