We had another thing to do last weekend.
The ashes of Yellow Dog had been sitting on the top shelf of my closet, waiting for me to decide what, if anything, should be done with them. When we made plans to go to PA, my indecision turned into an obvious solution.
YD's favorite place to romp on the Peninsula was actually in Sequim at the entrance to Dungeness County Park, above a National Wildlife Refuge. Craggy bluffs are covered with high meadow grass and fragrant wild roses. We would start our run from the NW side and loop around the whole park, stopping along the way to listen to the birds and watch local deer browse. One memorable afternoon she jumped off the bluff and waited patiently for me to yank her back up by the collar. (One of the few times she was NOT a good dog.)
Yukon watched as I slid past the post outlining the boundary of the park (the boundaries have changed in the years we have been gone) and opened the small, flowered can holding the ashes. He came to stand next to me as we both held up our hands and together let the spirit of the World's Best Dog out into the fresh summer morning.
The breeze twirled around us, a few tears stung our eyes, and a Swenson Thrush sang tribute. We slowly turned away and returned to the car without looking back, a now-empty flowery tin in our backpack.