Death becomes her


**At Sweet Rickey‘s request, given the title, I am editing this post to add: Maya is FINE, very much alive, and disgusted with the world at large.

In an effort to encourage gentleness with Miss Maya, who is a rather old dog, Mr and I frequently remind B of Maya’s age. This appears to have backfired, as B and I had the following conversation in the car today:

When is Maya going to die?

I don’t know, honey.

Well, how long is her going to live?

Hmmm… Dogs like Maya usually live to be fifteen or sixteen.  She’s about fourteen now.  So she’ll probably be around for a little while longer.

[Silence from the back seat, indicating that his mental wheels are turning]

Mommy, what do animals look like when they’re dead?

Um… like they’re sleeping?

Oh…[beat of silence] Only flatter.