Good, hey? It helps to know we’re not alone, in our love for our dog, doesn’t it, and that someone can express how we feel when we lose one? If this strikes home because of a recent loss, you might want to read the post I wrote, Love, Guilt, and Putting Dogs Down, which continues to get comments every week. Turn around three times before you curl up by the rope toy and find yourself chasing the echo of a bark into a night that will never end Hold a memory, any memory, bright and shining, soft and sad, smelling of wet fur and leaves, with a whisker there and muddy paw prints left on the stairs, of a walk of a hike of a trip to the park with a treat and a bone and a belly rub snacks stolen off the counter and tug of war and the squeaky toy a glance of complicity in play with your hand on head with tail wagging and breath misting in the morning light or the moon over the trees while an owl croons ears are pricked and nose to the ground sniffing, sniffing, sniffing following the invisible trail to its joyful finding Push them around the plate before leaving the entire thing in the sinkįeel the forgotten fur beneath your fingertips Wander around the house, your heart like a damned anvil in your chest Stare at that spot on the floor where your dog used to stretch out, languid and happy, his paws twitching as he raced across sleep meadows and into dream ravines filled with moss and ferns and the scent of foxes Make another cup of tea and this time drink it Stumble into a corner of the floor and hold your knees tightly Here it is, with a wave of gratitude to Catherine for letting me share it with you: It’s the best description I’ve ever read of how many of us feel after we lose a beloved dog, and it seems especially fitting after so many evocative comments from last week’s blog about “dogs as family.” I stuffed the envelope into my purse and thought nothing about it until a few days later when I dug it out to clean up my purse before traveling.Īnd then I read it, and sat down and read it again and got all soppy-eyed and petted Willie and went to the couch and got Tootsie on my lap and read it again. Oh thanks, I said, focused on other issues at the time. I hadn’t seen her in awhile, and then ran into her at a local coffee shop, where she handed me an envelope with a poem she’d written in it. This poem was written by a friend and colleague, Catherine Young.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |