The old dog waits
beside the lane, his clouded eyes dull with pain.
Muzzle frosted, tail unwound, but ears alert for any 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.
Did he imagine an overdue friend - or is that a shadow there in
the bend?
The old dog’s gaze
is suddenly keen on something only his eyes have seen.
The weakened spine no longer sags as tempo increasing, his back end wags!
I fear my eyes will over strain from searching down that empty lane.
Dust motes dance in the noonday sun as the old dog 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 years roll away like morning fog.
He’s young and strong and whole again, gaiting powerfully, sure to
win
Another heart, another show. And then, and then – the light
departs.
My eyes could stay
forever sealed but cannot deny what I know is real.
The illusion lies in sifting dust. An old dog gone where old
dogs must.
I pray that he can hear my song in that place where all my friends have
gone.
My gaze returns to his lifeless shell and a curtain of sadness I can not
quell…
Comes down. Oh, not for the dog who now is free but 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
