Grateful for Heat
July 2 2021
The dogs are sprawled on the deck
as if their bones had suddenly softened
and they'd dropped where they stood.
By now, the old one
who worships the sun
has bleached a rich tawny shade,
her thick brown fur
which always drew compliments
even more beautiful.
She has lost weight,
and for once
seems grateful for heat,
lying on one side
eyes firmly shut.
A wet pink tongue
lolls from her mouth
as she pants on and off.
The big barrel chest
which is showing its ribs
is rising and falling
too quickly, it seems.
And the left back leg
has a spastic twitch
as she restlessly sleeps,
in what may very well be
her last season with us.
She eats slowly now,
a leisurely gourmet
instead of greedy gourmand.
No longer chases balls
dashes up stairs
or eagerly licks me awake
at some ungodly hour.
But when it's time for a walk, she's game,
slower
than the pup she once was
but just as keen.
There will be no heroic measures
when the time eventually comes.
I envy her end,
surrounded by love
and unaware
that she will never wake up
from this ultimate rest.
How easily death comes
to the innocent and pure;
man's best friend
who lives in the now
and never bothers herself
with the weight of the past
or existential angst.
She has taught me much,
but how to die gracefully
without guilt or depression
fear or regret
is sadly something
I know I can't emulate.
They say all dogs go to heaven
are especially blessed,
living forever
in some canine afterlife.
So perhaps death is not the final measure
as I've always believed.
Or perhaps it's that a dog never departs.
Because as long as their people
keep their memory alive
a good dog
— and even the not so good —
remains immortal
down here on earth.
My chocolate Lab Skookum will turn 12 in August. Last summer, she had a severe case of pancreatitis and came close to death. Ever since, I've been acutely aware that her clock is ticking.
Last night she was limping, reluctant to weight-bear on one back leg. She had a persistent chesty cough, was trembling, and for a very self-contained dog seemed unusually needy. It seemed serious, and I wondered if this was the beginning of the end. But dogs – like children – crash quickly and recover just as fast. So today, she was back to her usual self.
Later in the day, I sat down in the mood to write but with nothing in mind, and this is what came to me. I try not to write dog poems, because if I let myself, I suspect they all might be! But I figure it's been long enough and by now I'm entitled.
It begins with a familiar image that has nothing to do with illness, but everything to do with what I've seen looking out at my girls in this oppressively hot weather: two sleeping dogs sprawled out on the deck as if they were boneless. And I just had to throw in that 2nd last line. Because although Skookum is a sweety-pie and has a good heart, she can also be a very bad dog!
I realize that the poem is probably on the schmaltzy side for my taste. But when it comes to our dogs, I think we all tend to be a little precious.
No comments:
Post a Comment