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OLD DOG

The old dog waits beside the lane, his clouded eyes dull with pain.
Muzzle frosted, tail unwound, his ears twitch forward at every sound.
Expectantly he tests the breeze as the broad chest labors, lungs a-wheeze.
He shifts his weight from paw to paw and I wonder what he thinks he saw.
Perhaps he imagined an overdue friend or is it only that shadow down at the bend?

The old dog’s gaze is intensely keen upon something only his eyes have seen.
The weakened back no longer sags as tempo increasing, his whole body wags.
I fear my eyes will over strain from searching down that empty lane…
Only dust motes dancing in noonday sun as he eagerly moves to greet someone.
Someone or something.  I cannot see!  But it’s surely here with old dog and me.

His head is higher than it’s been in years and I savor the taste of happy tears
As the light grows brighter around my dog and the years roll away like sundrenched fog.
He’s young and strong and whole again and I see him gaiting as though to win
Another show, another heart.  And then, and then – the light departs.

My eyes could stay forever sealed but I can’t deny what I know is real.
The illusion lies in the sifting dust.  An old dog gone where old dogs must.
Reality trots with legs now strong in a place where all of my friends have gone.
My gaze flicks over the lifeless shell as a curtain of sadness I can not quell…..
comes down.  Not for the dog who now is free but for me.  For me.  For me.

Barbara J. Andrews, 1993
Reprinted in loving memory of
CH. O’BJ BIGSON OF SACHMO, ROMXP
December 12, 1980 – May 12, 1993

Library > Prose and Poetry