Absurd mother's day conversation with my mom

I called my mom yesterday to wish her a happy mother’s day. Of course, instead of talking about motherhood and lovely brunches and flowers as other normal mother-daughters might, we talked about none of these things. Well, ok, I did ask her what she did, so that took up 5 minutes of our conversation.

Instead, a big chunk of our conversation was spent discussing less, um, quotidian things.

me: (hearing some weird meowing noise) What was that? You guys have a cat now?

mom: Oh, no. That’s our dear dog.

me: But that was a loud meow, not a bark. (Actually, it sounded like a cat in heat, but I didn’t know how to say “in heat” in Swahili.) Our dog meows now?

mom: Yeah, evidently, they start making weird noises when they get old. Soon they’ll start making weird noises in the wee hours of the night, b/c they sleep during the day and stay up at night and get bored.

me: That’s worse than a rooster. It’ll keep you up all night. He’s going to carry on like this till he. . .

mom: Oh, he’s alive and well. No signs of going anytime soon. Although your brother was like, “Oh, you’re bringing him to the new apartment when you move?” I mean, what kind of question is that? It’s not like we can just leave him behind. Poor thing. . .. Though now all he does is pee, poo, and sleep and doesn’t really contribute much to society. . ..

me: As opposed to before when he was churning out symphonies like Beethoven.

mom: Well before, he added spice to our life by occasionally running away and giving us a scare.

me: This was better?

mom: So your dad wants to have a funeral for the dog when he dies, but it’s absurdly expensive.

me: Wth. (Ok, I didn’t really say that. My parents don’t speak that lingo.) a full-on funeral for pets? With pallbearers?

mom: Well dead pets are considered biodegradable waste here, so theoretically, that’s how you’d dispose of its body.

me: Ewww. Someone would have to stuff him in a bag, then. Why don’t you just cremate him?

mom: Well, what I think your dad really wants to do is get him stuffed. But yeah, I meant cremation when I said “funeral”. They’re evidently quite expensive.

me: Ok, cremation is not a funeral. Why don’t you just bury him—you know, under one of these trees that he’s peed on in this apartment complex.

mom: I’m sure the owners of the complex would love that. No, I think we’d have to bury him at the local park where he used to run around. Sometime at night, perhaps. But that’s not feasible.

me: Why not? It’s not illegal to bury one’s beloved dog, no?

mom: Well, I don’t know that it’s something that anyone has ever done, so there may be no law specifically about furtively going to a park in the dark of the night and burying one’s pet, in which case, it’s not illegal, no. But I don’t want to have to do anything with it, so dad would have to carry him and bring a shovel to the park by himself. It might look suspicious.

me: Well, can’t he just take a cab to the park?

mom: Now, do you really think a cab is going to let someone carry their dead pet aboard?

me: Who said anything about telling the cabbie that he’s dead? He can just carry him like he’s sleeping on his lap. He won’t move. There’s nothing odd about carrying a sleeping pet on your lap and bringing a shovel on a cab.

mom: Well, he’d still have to dig a pretty big hole by himself.

dad (passing by or maybe heard just this portion of the conversation—to my mom:) What are you guys talking about?

mom: Oh we’re trying to figure out how you’re going to bring our dear dog to the park when he dies, to bury him.

dad: You guys are sick sick sick (walks away and lets us continue).

mom: Well, as I was saying, so technically, you are supposed to dispose of pets in biodegradable trash.

me: Eww. You mean you have to stuff him in a trash bag?

mom: Yep, though it has to be a clear trash bag for biodegradable trash.

me: Ugh. That’s even worse. So he’s going to be in a see-thru bag in a heap of trash? That’s how he’s supposed to end his life? That’s so inanimate.

mom: (evidently talking to the dog) Yes, dearie, we’re talking about your funeral arrangements.

me: Omg. Does he understand what we were talking about?

mom: Nah. He doesn’t even understand “dinner” or “food” anymore, so he’s certainly not going to understand a complicated discussion on the logistics of his burial/disposal.

me: Well, does he look sad or annoyed?

mom: Not a bit. Actually, as much as I’d love to keep talking about the garbage laws of this land, you should get to bed. It’s getting late.

me: Yeah, probably. Well, on that morbid note, happy mother’s day.

mom: Thanks. Now get some sleep.

But since I can't sleep after the lovely conversation we just had, I am up at an absurd time blogging about this instead, whilst imagining clear garbage bags stuffed with our poor beloved dog.

He's quite the beautiful dog.

Doesn't he look very pensive and intelligent here?