An Empty Collar

I now have an empty collar, sitting on my desk. It use to hold my laughing boy dog. Now it sits, at the base of my desk lamp, empty. What do you do with such mementos? They are priceless, with the DNA that surely is attached, microscopically to the leather. But instead of hugs and kisses, romps in the yard, rides in the car and days at the dog shows, it will sit there, on my desk and simply collect dust. I can't let that happen, but its usefulness is no longer required. My boy is gone. He hung on as long as he could, but we lost the battle yesterday. I have an assortment of these collars in my house. They have moved from beloved necks, to spots on my desk, then to memory boxes on the shelf. I can not let them go. I can't imagine the day that this collar will go into a memory box. I want the neck back. I want to slip it over those Aussie ears and hear the jingle of the tag as it bounces along beside me. I am not ready to let it sit: still, in its new spot. My desk is a good spot,though, I think. That collar was always within arms reach, lifting if I looked its way, moving if I moved along. Now it will be right here. Watching over me, making me remember, as if I needed it to do that. I will miss having that collar along for the ride. I can hardly stand it, how I feel the ache in my fingers, with no hair to get tangled into. My eyes can now rest on that motionless tag as it hangs from the lamp. Right there, a breath away from me now. A loved breath gone. Help me process the loss. Help me remember the love. Rest peacefully and please, wait for me, I have the collar which said, on its tag, that you were mine.