Old Dog

Fourteen came and went that year and as his light grew dim; I thought of time so swiftly passed since life gave breath to him. I stroked him and I held him near, remembering moments flown; The sunny day, late in spring, when first I brought him home. This tale not told of canine nerve or valor laced with fame, Instead the story of two friends and what their lives became. A story of long years attending one another’s cause, Baths and brushes, meals and play, wet fur and muddy paws. A young dog then, almost a pup: all full of fun and play. Embedded in my heart so deep; I hoped he'd always stay. Each early morn we'd walk our walk to tend the needs of day, Before I earned our daily bread, those many miles away. And every time I left my home, the last that I would see, A faithful face in window space: waiting there for me. Still sitting there in patient pose at time of each day’s end. The little dog back in his place; my loyal, canine friend. After dinner we would take our evening walk for two: Companions seeing seasons pass, as time so quickly flew. Then I retired from my work, now with him every day. Our walks grew few and shorter, with less, much gentler play. Soft brown eyes at one time bright, grew milky with his failing sight. Ears still perked for every sound, began to let the old dog down. Then came the day his body said his spirit should be free: Allowed to soar to lofty heights, while I must stay and grieve. With all the love and courage, the good Lord could provide; I stood and held my dear old friend: I wept and then he died. I sit, reflect, relive our time; I was his joy and he was mine. And with all this, these thoughts old friend; I'll tell you now, as I told you then . . . On down the road and around a bend, where there's no painful, certain end; God's will, we'll do it all again! © 2015 Diane Lefebvre