Thursday, 6 October 2011

Sandy

The puppy born here, in our garden,
A grown dog now. Golden Sandy. Big Sandy.
Always such a big strong dog. So big,
You used to knock the little children over,
In your excitement. A backdrop of
Faithfulness in our lives. Your body
A wag, and a pair of soulfull eyes.
Now your body is reaching the end of
Its time on this earth. Nine years old,
Only. We thought you had at least four
Good years left. Your decline so rapid,
The lumps appearing everywhere. You are
Our dog, and I know that shortly you will
Be no more. I've moved your bed into
My room, and now at 4am I hear you snoring.
You always snored. Could wake the dead
With your snoring. But you're sleeping peacefully,
And for that I'm glad. I knew, when you got so needy for company,
That something wasn't right. You knew too.
Old dog. Bounding along and now your bound has become
A limp. I hope you are dreaming of bounding.

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