Shawn L. Bird

I had some errands to do,

and it’s always so hard to leave you

after I’ve come home,

so I went to the library,

and the grocery store,

and then to fold my mother’s laundry.

When I pulled into the garage,

he told me you were in trouble,

I rushed to see you.

You looked at me with anguish in your eyes,

your belly hugely distended. I told you to come,

you went straight to the car, because the car is always good.

I raced you to the vet, my hand on your shoulder,

knowing.

I sat on the exam room floor with you

feeling your racing pulse and your icy breath.

I held you as you died.

Thirty minutes of pointless errands

when I could have been with you,

thirty minutes less pain you would have endured,

thirty minutes I will not get back, but will always regret.

I’m thankful for the fifteen minutes I had to hold you.

I’m so sorry for your anguish in my arms.

.

.

.

My heart dog OJ died of gastric torsion on Friday.  He was fine at lunch.  Dead at 5:00.  We don’t know how it happened after 15.5 years, but standard poodles are deep chested dogs that can be prone to bloat, though it’s not in his line.  I had hoped he’d go in his sleep, not suffering so much, but it was easy to request the shot to save him from his agony, though by then it was likely only moments of ease.