Their joys are simple. A soft bed. A scrap fallen
from the table that the
younger dogs missed. The memory of a treed
squirrel. A storm-less night.
White whiskered faces and legs crooked as question
Old Dogs, their sweet Buddha bellies hang over
crossed legs as they fall
asleep in a coveted patch of sun. Dreaming of
out-racing their shadows down
long, shady lanes.
Once they danced by your side. The very definition
of joy unleashed. A
perfect poem caught in shining eyes and wiggling
tails. They have followed you
faithfully for years and would plunge into fires,
raging waters if you asked. Now, they struggle to
catch up. Their pace slow
but their hearts still valiant.
Their cloudy eyes are starting to dim and go
distant, tuning in to some
invisible world. Just beyond your reach.
“Don’t go” you say, as you scratch the tender part
between their ears. “
Stay longer. I can’t
imagine a world without your fur pressed close to
cheek. There are still
so many roads we haven’t explored.” And they look
at you with a wisdom
that just slays you.
Their backs are bent, not from the weight of
years, but from the invisible
wings they are growing that will soon take them to
a place where once
more they are warriors
of speed. Drunk with the sights and scents of a
thousand meadows. Able
to leap high enough to touch the wing of the
A place where they will now wait for you to catch