You hate to lose a good dog

As my late Grandfather said in a poem he wrote for his beloved Prince,

You hate to lose a good dog.

It’s more than hate, it’s an ache, my body trying to understand how I lost you,

you were mine for eleven years, short of forever, how did I lose you?

We hurried to get you there,

my hand on your chest, our voices calm as we sped to the clinic.

You were as quiet as you were the day we brought you home,

now, we were the ones unsure of our future,

uncertainty driving the gas pedal down to the floor of the truck.

How perfect, you thought.

I am with my favorite people, the radio is playing John Denver,

the road sounds are comforting, she is petting me, telling me I am a good girl.

I am so tired…

You passed before the sun rose,

and I asked the world to stop spinning,

just for a second, so I wouldn’t know a day

without you.

The vet techs hugged me under the grey light of the clinic.

I just stared at how Dad parked out of the designated lines of the parking space,

we tried so hard to break the rules for you.

You always listened, but once in a while,

you got stubborn, like when we tried to get you out of the river,

or when I shook you in the back seat when we parked at the clinic,

to wake up, but I don’t blame you for that.

I told you it was alright,

and you gave me the gift that was feeling your last breath.

Ah well, you can do much without a dog, but much will be empty.

The ache of absence, spreads and burns,

I told the vets that I loved you.

I told God that I loved you.

I told strangers that I loved you.

I told people who knew that I loved you, that I loved you.

I kissed and whispered into your deaf ear, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

To whom will you call?

For whom will you stroke quiet company?

We called our family to tell the news, and in the evening,

we congregated to pay our respects as we planted you in the shadow

of your favorite tree.

This ache roots itself in my heart,

and sits there, stagnant, collecting the fragments of words I could not put together,

a hurt that almost makes you hate love,

until you think about what it means to regret loving such a beautiful thing,

and I couldn’t do that to my girl.

So I write,

There is no bad thing about having a dog,

even when they die, and you bury your heart with them,

your love will carry them to the Other Side,

to swim, to run, to bay as loud as they wish,

and to reciprocate such a love,

in the earth, on the grave plot they are marked by,

there will be daffodils, daisies, and roses,

for the bees and butterflies,

the Labrador still retrieves beautiful things.

*

In June 2013, I brought home a Chocolate Lab puppy. She was my gift for graduating high school. What a gift she was.

Rosie was the perfect dog you could ask for. She was kind, patient, wise, and beautiful. She loved her family, car rides, and of course, the river. I know she swimming to her heart’s content under the Rainbow Bridge, splashing in the colors happily, you deserve it, my girl. Rest in peace.

Paw (My grandpa), thank you for once again inspiring a poem. I used some lines from the poem he wrote for his dog, Prince, and it felt like I was writing with him all over again.

Thank you for your support.