Angelica Guarino
The Best Little Dog Funeral in Adirondacks
A short play
by Angelica Guarino
Scene 1
An idyllic cabin in the woods somewhere near Lake Placid. Taxidermy pieces hang on
the wood-paneled walls. Photos of fishermen and local travel guides sit on a wall
shelf. A small dining table is set for two. A horrific snot-green-colored sofa is
the room’s centerpiece. GIA and DYLAN enter, carrying duffle bags. GIA places a cardboard
box on the dining table.
DYLAN
I don't know why I answered the guy when he asked, you know? It would’ve been so easy
to just say “anniversary” or “late Valentine's day” trip.
GIA
Look at it this way: you didn’t cry in the checkout line this time, you waited until
we were in the parking lot. That, my love, is progress. Besides, why we’re here isn’t
a secret, it’s just, like, depressing.
Dylan shrugs and sets their bags down on the dining table. They cross to the windows.
DYLAN
This place looks so different in the winter.
GIA
Yeah. You wouldn’t even know there’s a lake under all that snow. Do you remember the
weekend we brought her up and as soon as we pulled up, she jumped out of the car and
dove right into the lake? And that was before we knew she could swim!
DYLAN
Wait...if the lake is frozen over, how are we gonna-?
GIA
Let's figure it out later.
Gia kisses Dylan on the cheek and grabs a book from her suitcase. She collapses onto
the snot-colored sofa. Dylan remains at the window, fidgeting. A beat. They cross
back to their bags on the dining table, unzipping a bag and rummaging through it.
DYLAN
Where's that drill thing? The thing that we use for ice fishing.
GIA
The auger? Did you pack it?
DYLAN
I definitely did. I was thinking maybe we could drill a hole in the ice and then sprinkle
the ashes in the lake that way.
GIA
I don’t know if that’ll work.
DYLAN
Well how else could we do it? An ice axe?
GIA
Maybe, except I definitely didn’t pack one.
DYLAN
Where is yours?
GIA
Either at my sister's apartment in Boulder or the house we stayed at in Vermont last
year.
DYLAN
Gia, you're kidding.
GIA
If the ice under the snow isn't too frozen, maybe we can dig a hole and bury the ashes
near one of the trees instead of in the lake? I did throw a shovel in the trunk.
Dylan furiously pulls out their phone.
DYLAN
The high for tomorrow is nine degrees. Water freezes at 32 degrees Fahrenheit, right?
GIA
Dylan, I know when water freezes.
DYLAN
I'm not going to apologize for trying to figure out the logistics here.
GIA
But do we have to talk about that right now?
DYLAN
I guess not. But we only have this AirBNB booked for like, eighteen hours. So. Clock’s
ticking.
GIA
Okay. Let’s do it. I’m ready.
Gia closes her book and motions for Dylan to come over to the couch. Dylan crosses
to the couch. Gia opens her arms to embrace Dylan. Dylan leans into her. They both
have to adjust a few times to get comfortable.
GIA
So we’ll be outside with the urn, the shovel, and the auger at, say 10:00 am tomorrow,
okay?
DYLAN
Ok. I was thinking we could like, say something.
GIA
Yeah, yeah. Definitely. Do you want to do that part? I guess I was just picturing
a moment of silence or playing a song on our phones. She always liked listening to
David Bowie with me.
Dylan nods. A beat.
DYLAN
I keep thinking about what she would’ve wanted. Like a dog would have any concept
of a funeral.
Gia sits up and turns away from Dylan slightly.
GIA
Are we sure we want to leave her here? Like, instead of keeping her with us?
DYLAN
I don’t know. I mean, she loved coming here.
GIA
She loved us too, right?
DYLAN
Of course.
GIA
I don’t think I want to leave her here.
DYLAN
Okay. Yeah. We don’t have to. We could just, like. Have a little ceremony and pay
our respects or whatever but still take her home.
Dylan crosses to the cardboard box on the dining table and opens the lid slightly,
peeking inside.
DYLAN
We could also split her up? Leave some here and take the rest home. I mean, we drove
all this way.
GIA
(suddenly shaking with anger)
No. NO! I’m not letting her out of my sight again!
DYLAN
What?
Gia breaks down crying. Dylan rushes to her side.
GIA
(through tears)
I’m sorry. I’m sorry. It’s just that I kissed our dog before I left the house one
morning, and that was the last time I was ever going to see her. And I didn't know.
And I’ve had a headache all week from crying. And it’s my fault.
DYLAN
Gia, it’s no one’s fault! It was an accident. Hey, let’s think about this logically,
right? That always works when we’re having a fight. So, is there anything you could
have done differently to prevent this from happening?
Gia sniffles.
GIA
Logically? No.
DYLAN
Is there anything I could've done differently to prevent this from happening?
Gia hesitates for the slightest moment.
GIA
No.
DYLAN
You hesitated.
GIA
No, I didn't.
DYLAN
You did. Why did you hesitate?
GIA
I didn't hesitate.
Dylan rises from the couch.
DYLAN
You...think it’s my fault.
GIA
I didn’t say that! And I don’t think that. I just...for some reason, and I don’t even
want to say it, I want to blame someone. And I don’t know the person who was driving
the car that hit her and you don’t either because you said they didn’t even stop,
and I know the vet did everything she could to help, so that leaves you and me. So,
I don’t know. We’re both at fault, I guess.
DYLAN
Gia - that’s ridiculous. We loved that dog more than anything. What was I supposed
to do differently? You’re the one who’s always out of town at a conference or a “networking
dinner” or staying late at the office even though you’re just an intern.
GIA
So you resent me because I don’t have a real job yet or because I’m out trying to
change that instead of sitting at home with you every night watching the same episodes
of Sex and the City we’ve both seen twenty times?
Dylan doesn't answer at first.
DYLAN
It’s a good thing we never want kids. Seriously, sometimes when I see people with
kids I think about what it would be like for us. And what I see is you half-assing
it and me like, begging you to come to Dylan Jr.’s Tae Kwon Do graduation or trombone
recital or something.
GIA
You’re not giving me this way-too-specific scenario because you think you might want
kids, though, right?
DYLAN
Oh, fuck no, I just overthink everything.
GIA
Thank God.
DYLAN
It’s just...the day we brought Carmela home was the best day of my life. I was afraid
she was going to be scared because she was in a new house with new people, but she
just walked right in and fell asleep on our couch, like, immediately. From the second
we met her, she trusted us. Even though we don’t know where she came from or how many
houses she’d lived in before us or how old she even really was. It was like she knew
we were always going to be there to take care of her.
GIA
What does this have to do with our hypothetical children that will hopefully never
exist?
DYLAN
Getting a dog with you was the best thing I’ve ever done. But there’s this tiny part
of me that feels like maybe we didn’t always split the work 50-50.
GIA
(not offended, just surprised)
Oh. And you waited until now to tell me that because?
DYLAN
Because I didn’t know how to talk to you about it. I didn’t trust that you would be
able to have that conversation with me.
GIA
And even though you don’t ever want to have kids, there’s a part of you that just
wants to trust that I’d be willing to split the work 50-50.
DYLAN
Yeah. Like. It’s not about Dylan Jr. or Carmela even. It’s just about us.
GIA
You want us to trust each other the way Carmela trusted us.
DYLAN
Yes.
GIA
That doesn’t just happen, Dylan. We both have to work at it. And we have to talk about
it. Like, all the time. Like, even when we don’t want to.
DYLAN
I know! And that’s on both of us. I’m just saying, like, maybe instead of trying to
hold a funeral for Carmela, we can remember her by learning how to trust each other
more.
GIA
Okay. Yeah. That’s what she would’ve wanted. Well, really, she’s a dog, so she probably
would’ve just wanted to eat peanut butter and bacon up in doggie heaven.
DYLAN
I have no doubt in my mind that’s exactly what she’s doing right now.
GIA
Listen. We can’t change what’s already happened. I think we both know that. Well,
at least you know that’s something my therapist always tells me and I don’t think
now is the time to doubt Margaret’s expertise.
DYLAN
I wouldn’t dare. But, if we want to start trusting each other more, what would Margaret
tell us to do?
GIA
I think for starters, you could hypothetically trust me to come to our hypothetical
child’s hypothetical saxophone recital. Like, as long as you remind me where and when
a bunch of times because otherwise you know I’ll forget.
DYLAN
I can do that. But didn’t I say trombone recital?
GIA
Yeah, but I think our hypothetical kid would actually be cool, so hypothetically they
would play the saxophone instead of the trombone, like a nerd.
DYLAN
That makes sense. I could also try to be more accommodating about when you stay late
at work.
GIA
Thank you. Can you trust that I’d rather be home with you cheering on Carrie every
time she swipes her credit card on shoes she can’t afford?
DYLAN
Yes. When I leave dishes in the sink, can you trust that I’ll wash them when I get
home from work?
GIA
Are you actually going to do that?
DYLAN
Alright, maybe the “baby steps” approach makes more sense here.
They smile at each other. Dylan grabs Gia by the hand.
DYLAN
Thank you.
GIA
For what?
DYLAN
For being a really good dog mom.
GIA
I did fine. You did great.
DYLAN
I actually wrote a eulogy. Do you want to hear it?
Gia nods. Dylan clears their throat and moves to the center of the stage, addressing
an invisible crowd of onlookers. They pull a folded piece of paper out of their pocket.
DYLAN
Though she only weighed ten pounds and six ounces, our little Carmela Soprano matched
the stature and larger-than-life personality of her tv-character namesake. She also,
like TV Carmela, had perfect blonde hair and was always ready to fight a man when
she needed to be. We rescued her just before Halloween two years ago. We didn’t want
to overwhelm her by trying to put her in a Halloween costume, so Gia bought her a
powder blue dog sweater to see if we could get her to wear it. She never wanted to
take it off. There was this neighbor we had, this middle-aged guy who our little dog
hated. And he would come outside all the time wearing a white tank top and a bathrobe
- like Tony Soprano. One morning, she’s barking at him like crazy. The guy was usually
fine about it, but that morning, he snapped. He looks right at her, throws his carton
of orange juice at the side of our house, and yells “Oh poor you!” in a North Jersey
accent before storming back inside. Gia and I lost it laughing and after the two of
them fought like a bickering married couple in the middle of our driveway, so we started
calling our dog Carmela Soprano. She never responded to the name they gave her at
the shelter, so we changed it. I think a lot about how many things had to line up
for that perfect moment to happen - the guy in his bathrobe, the orange juice, the
blue sweater, but the only reason it changed everything was because we decided it
was going to. Of everything Carmela taught me, and she was wise beyond her dog years
so there was a lot, this is my favorite - that you can just decide to change something.
Of course, it’s not always as easy as changing a dog’s name, but the important part
is that you can. Though she left our lives way too soon...
Dylan trails off, folds the paper back up, and puts it away.
DYLAN
That’s as much of it as I can do right now.
THE END.