Arrow Rug

Drake, my fourteen year old son, graciously offered to help me rid our house of Christmas decorations. As I stood on a ladder removing plastic pine branches from the center pole and tossing them to Drake, he squished them flat and put them into a huge cardboard box. My dog, Arrow, thought this was a giant game of keep-away in which he was the central player.

"When all of us kids grow up and move away can I have Arrow?" Drake asked.
"If he is still alive," I answered, although I can't imagine a time when the house is quiet and empty.
"I still want him even if he is dead."
"Um, that's not possible."
"Yes it is. I'll have him made into a rug."
"A rug?"
"Yeah. Like they do with bears. It would be awesome to have an Arrow rug. It would be so soft."
"An Arrow rug?"
"Yeah. They could even keep his head on and use blue marbles for his eyes."
"Drake, go look up the word morbid, and then don't be it."
"It's not morbid to keep your dog as a rug after he dies. It's just keeping him around longer."
"I'm not sure that is even allowed."
"It has to be. I've seen bear rugs."
"I don't think you would have any friends in your community if you had an Arrow rug. The kids would call you Old Man Hintz and dare each other to knock on your door."
"Old Man and Old Lady Hintz. I'm going to be married when I'm old."
"Not if you have an Arrow rug."
"Don't worry, Mom. I'm going to get married before I get weird."

These are the conversations that keep me awake at night.