Old Dog, Good Dog
The vet says, “She’s
as tough as nails,
She’ll hide her pain.”
“You have to tell her
when to stop.”
But how do you say no,
To the pad of eager
paws at the jangle of keys?
Waving tail, clouded eyes,
hopeful gaze.
Puppy-like zest encased
in frail, arthritic body.
How do you say no to
an old dog, a good dog?
She hates to be left
behind,
stands at the door and
barks,
Or at the bottom of
the stairs,
head cocked, eyes
aglow, waiting.
For me to have a
change of heart,
a guilty conscience,
or a sudden burst of strength.
She knows I will return, but still
she hates
the parting.
I hate it too; wish I
could taker her with me
Everywhere – The
grocery store, the library,
the bank, to work and
back.
At night I contemplate
an elevator
as she watches me
climb the stairs,
her old bones too weary
to make the trek.
I wish I could carry
her around with me always.
Wish that she could
grow just old enough, but not too old.
Never too old.
She follows me, my
shadow,
or her eyes do,
tracking my progress,
From kitchen to
computer, and back again.
Alert for a deviation,
a change in my route,
ever keen for the next
adventure.
Though her eyes are
blue with cataracts, her hearing dim,
She knows what I plan,
sometimes before I do.
A walk in the park, a
trip to the barn,
a car ride with no
firm destination in mind.
“I may be old,” she seems to say, “but I’m not
dead.”
“Yes,” I agree. “And
I’d like you to stay that way.
Not dead, I mean.”
She scoffs, “Let me
decide.”
Walks to the door,
head high, though slightly tilted.
Car keys jangle.
Doors open to scents,
wind, possibilities.
steps out into the
golden light.
She feels me hesitate,
Turns to me with a
knowing look-
“Life goes on, until
it doesn’t.”
I smile, and follow.
The old dog has taught me well.
