Another day of searching & I realize my work is a slow shuffle alongside the old dog pausing during walks to nose fallen oak leaves, brown & bumpy as the toads she used to hunt. My job is to wake her without startling, massage thick scruff, stiff legs & joints, help her down & back up from the end of the sofa where she naps, folded like a pocket knife, Old Timer on a faded gray blanket. These days, we are both unsteady, counterbalancing the other & relying on routines to stay grounded. Every hour is marked by a prayer for patience & acceptance of what we have lost & must let go— long weekends at the cabin, dancing to records, jumping in bed, running laps around the cul-de-sac, her copper eyes beaming & muzzle, smiling widely, those soft spotted ears, flapping like hawk wings.
Read more poems about this dear, old dog and the living creatures that keep us company in times of grief in my newest collection, Every Note, a Lantern, now available from Kelsay Books and Amazon.
Sounds like your work is an act of attention and meditation.
A bittersweet privilege. May your sweet pup have joy in its last days (as you are assuredly providing) and a peaceful passing.