Dearly Departed

I’d been working at Rosefields Funeral Home for about two months when we got the call from Mrs. Hanson.
“It’s my darling Earl,” she sobbed into the phone. I moved it away from my ear. Her creaky old lady voice was surprisingly loud and almost incomprehensible. But one of the requirements of my receptionist job was the ability to translate grief into normal human speech (and human speech into sales figures). I’d found it helped if I made my own voice slower and more rational, as if you could transmit composure over phone lines.
“I’m so sorry for your loss, ma’am,” I said. “Was it sudden?”
“Cancer,” she choked. “He was diagnosed six months ago.”
I flinched inwardly. Oy. Six months wasn’t long enough to get used to the idea of a loved one being gone, and just long enough to convince yourself that they would pull through. This would be a raw one.
I clicked into the on-call list to see who was working pickup that morning. I hoped I could send Jerry. He was 6’4” ex-Navy Seal who could manhandle a corpse out of a seven-story walkup. He also had the demeanor of a teddy bear and an endless supply of quotes from every major religious text in the world. He was the closest thing we had to a saint.
Damn. He’d taken the day off for a community service project. This was why you shouldn’t work with saints. I was left with the new kid, Greg, and Ralph. Ralph hated me. I tried not to take it personally. It was more a generic expression of his hatred of the world. He was much more what you’d expect from a long-time lackey at a small-town funeral parlor: misanthropic, irritable, simultaneously bored with and annoyed by the inevitability of death. But I couldn’t leave Earl Hanson lying on his couch all night so Ralph would have to do.
“Got a pickup for you,” I announced, handing him the address on a sticky note.
“How old?”
“I forgot to ask.” Before he could give me an expletive-laden scolding I added, “His wife sounds ancient. He can’t be under sixty. I think Greg’s free to go with you.”
“That lazy kid? He’ll make more work than he gets done.”
“Two people for every pick up.” I shrugged. “I don’t make the rules.”
Ralph lumbered off to find Greg, muttering commentary under his breath. I sank back in my chair, feeling slightly stung. I’d thought “lazy kid” was my nickname.
He came back in an even worse mood than he’d left.
“Goddamn idiot,” he growled as he pushed open the front door.
“Ralph!” the director, Larry, scolded from his office doorway. He had the mouthpiece of his phone pressed against his suit jacket and a worried crease in his balding head. He must’ve been trying to make a big sale.
“What did Greg do this time?” I asked.
“It wasn’t Greg, it was you!” Ralph snarled. “You never told me we were picking up a goddamn dog.”
“A dog?”
“A friggin’ collie. The old lady was crying her eyes out over it.”
“I thought Earl was her husband.”
“You didn’t check?”
“I don’t usually have to check that our clients are human. It’s kind of a given. Wait.” I paused as the full horror of my sending Ralph to deal with this situation reached me. “What did you do with it?”
“What do you mean? You think I’m gonna leave some poor old biddie crying over a dog corpse? I packed him up. He’s in the back of the truck.” He pointed at Larry’s office. “It’s up to you and that asshole to figure it out now.”
Even in a job centered around difficult conversations, there had been nothing in the company sensitivity training to prepare me for this. I was dreading the call I’d have to place to Mrs. Hanson. I decided to get it over with first thing the next morning.
“Hello?” She picked up on the second ring. I could hear a soft shuffling sound over the phone and imagined a pair of embroidered slippers and a quilted housecoat. 
“Hello, Mrs. Hanson. This is Cara calling from Rosefields. I wanted to talk to you about Earl.”
“Oh, yes dear. Thank you so much for sending those nice gentlemen right over yesterday. They were such a comfort. The older one, Ralph I think, said I should expect your call sometime today to talk through the arrangements.”
“Did he?” If Ralph had been anywhere in my line of sight, I would’ve shot him a glare searing enough to cremate him. “Just to clarify, Mrs. Hanson, what arrangements were you hoping to make?”
“Just a quiet burial but we’ll need space for a large viewing. Earl was very popular. The neighbors have already started asking how they can pay their respects.”
“So you want to have a funeral? For your dog? At our funeral home?”
“Yes, dear,” she replied in a gentle voice as if she was beginning to suspect I was a bit slow.
I chewed the edge of my thumbnail and glanced at Larry’s office door. He also said to never turn down a potential customer, but this would be a headache of paperwork and I’d end up doing most of it. Not to mention, there was nasty feeling creeping into my stomach the longer I kept her on the line. 
“Look,” I whispered into the phone, “we don’t normally do dog funerals and our rates are pretty high. The cost of the room, the flowers, the casket, the plot. We’ll give you the body, I mean Earl, back and you can bury him in your yard. I’m sure if you call your vet they’ll know someone who can help you.”
Mrs. Hanson was quiet for a moment and I prayed it meant she was reconsidering. I knew that playing Death’s sales rep everyday didn’t make me a saint but invoicing her for a dog’s memorial flower arrangements might finally seal my ticket to hell. But just as I was getting my hopes of a clear conscience up, she cleared her throat. “Thank you, but Earl was family to me. I want to celebrate his life as I would anyone else’s. And don’t trouble yourself about the cost of the plot. We’re going to share mine.”
“If you’re sure,” I sighed, “I’ll transfer you to our director.”
Mrs. Hanson had been right about at least one thing: Earl was popular. She’d reserved one of our largest chapels but as I was setting out over fifty folding chairs, I didn’t expect even half of them to be full. By the time the service started, it was standing room only. I had to crane my neck from the back to get a view. 
I didn’t know what I’d expected. Something off the cuff like those dog weddings on TV with a Chihuahua in a veil and a bridal party of pugs in rhinestone collars. But the only dog in attendance was Earl himself. He lay on his side in a mahogany, child-sized coffin, the existence of which had made me uncomfortable since my first day. It would have been better if I could’ve always thought of them as receptacles for old dogs who’d lived good lives. His was lined with blue silk, apparently his favorite color. A light blue ribbon hung on the framed photo of him lolling in the grass. The flowers were all white roses and baby’s breath. Classy, as dog funerals go.
At least seven people gave eulogies. Everyone who’d ever lived on his street came to see him off, along with parents and patients from the children’s hospital where he’d apparently volunteered. Earl did more good in his life than most people I knew, myself included. A former neighbor said seeing Earl always made his day better. I just tried not to make someone’s day actively worse.
Mrs. Hanson was the last to speak. She sniffled into a handkerchief as she placed a ragged squeaky toy in the casket and closed the lid. 
“Good dog,” she whispered.
There was something burning on the edges of my eye. I swiped it away. Staff members weren’t supposed to cry at these things, especially not over goddamn collies. Who let themselves get this attached to something that licked its own ass?
I hadn’t noticed that Ralph had saddled in to watch the end of the service next to me. I hoped whatever foul-mouthed comment he was going to sprout wouldn’t come within earshot of the mourners, I was secretly craving a dose of cynicism.
“Beautiful service, huh?” he grunted. “Hell of a turnout.”
“I hope half as many people come to mine someday,” I muttered. I felt Ralph scowling at me but couldn’t pinpoint why.
“You know,” he said after a few seconds’ pause, “I pick up a lot of bodies. I can tell you that if you die alone in your apartment, your dog will lie down next to you until he starves to death on the floor. Your cat’ll eat you, starting with the eyes.” He rocked back on his heels and let out a sigh. “That’s the kind of shit that gives me hope.”
I was too stunned to ask which of these scenarios gave him hope or what exactly he hoped for. I never did find out. When the service was over, I walked out to the front lobby and knocked on Larry’s door.
“I quit.”