Little black nose
Pink panting tongue
Sparkling black eyes
Two paws on my leg
invitations to puppy fun.
poem-lost moments February 15, 2016
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.
poem-first mourning February 13, 2016
And so I wake on the first morning
without my heart dog.
No thumping tail to greet me
No clicking nails tattooing down the hall.
No urgent woof encouraging me
No stinky kisses
to comfort me aching.
No rolling for a belly rub
with contended sighs and eyes blinking
nonchalantly, as if you were surprised
to find my hand caressing you.
No need to put my purse up high,
or guard food on the counters.
No rattling as you did dishwasher pre-wash.
No.
Only bits of fluff, still hiding in corners
after your last hair cut,
a hundred photos,
and a million memories of a sweet-tempered,
loving heart that beat with mine.
.
.
.
Oh, how I miss my boy today.
poem- today
Today,
grief is a roller coaster,
clicking forward minute by minute
and then with an errant thought
dropping my belly to my knees.
poem-oh! February 12, 2016
I burst into tears
at the sight of pizza on the counter.
There is no longer danger
of your nose sniffing out a snack
your tongue stealing it with sneaky swipe.
Your bright eyes no longer follow me.
Your tail no longer wags in joyful greeting.
I am bereft
that food is safe
but you are gone.
.
One year to the day after we had to put down our miniature poodle Dusty, we came home today to find our dear, sweet OJ, (Kimelle’s Optimum Jive) bloating from gastric torsion. I rushed him to the vet where he died in my arms 10 minutes later. And so my prophecy came true. In one year I lost my 3 old men: Dusty (16.5), Dad (100.75), and OJ (15.5). Be careful of the words you speak.
I gave OJ this ghastly hair cut last weekend, and saved the hair to spin and felt. What a melancholy, precious task that will be, when I can bear it.
Jpeg
poem-tryst May 11, 2015
He cries when you sees you,
low whimpers of delight.
His frailness is endearing
if it doesn’t keep you up at night.
He rubs his head against you
he murmurs adoration
When you scratch behind his ears
his tail waves in celebration.
His love is pure and when he looks
so deeply in your eyes
You know these daily trysts
will last until he dies.
.
.
(and if he’s as old as my boy is, that may not be as long as one would hope).
poem-dreaming April 1, 2015
Last night,
I wept over your broken body,
watching bloody pools expanding
beneath your feet.
Today,
you needed seven anti-anxiety pills
and still paced and cried,
your heart throbbing.
Were we dreaming side by side?
Did you see my vision?
Were you scared by day
from mother dreams
of death?
.
.
.
(The dog again. Sigh. Put him in the Gentle Leader halter after dinner and he calmed down. Might try that during the day tomorrow.)
poem-window love March 24, 2015
It’s time for spring cleaning,
but if I wash your nose prints
off this glass
then the last trace
of you will be erased
and you will truly be
gone.
poem-distress signal March 10, 2015
whimper
pant
pace
whine
pant
woof?
pant
woof
pace
pant
woof!
pant
WOOF!
pant
cry
WOOF wooooof!
pant
sigh
.
.
My 15 year old standard poodle is still unable to manage alone after we had to put down our 16.5 year old miniature poodle last month. We now allow him to sleep in our bedroom. Last night, after he’d been pacing and whimpering from 1:30 to 2 a.m. (post snack and pee-break) I actually got out of bed to lie beside him on the floor for 20 minutes until he settled. I’m not sure if that’s enabling, but we were all able to sleep afterwards. A visit to the vet this week, and a trip to his favourite kennel master next week, and I have hopes that perhaps he’ll be able to cope soon. The mourning process is a challenge for us all.
poem-anxious sovereignty March 4, 2015
You and I are independent souls.
I move through the house;
You rest comfortably in contented sovereignty.
You do not need to dog my heels
to glorify each moment at my side
or expect me to worship at your feet.
You ignore me for hours,
sleeping in peaceful, self-sufficiency.
We are independent souls,
until the moment I step outside the door,
and calamity explodes in barks and whines.
It pants, scratches, and pees displeasure
at this, your desperate circumstance,
wailing at the injustice of loneliness,
vomiting up fathomless grief.
For the hours I am present, I do not exist;
for the hour I am absent, I make your world
a cavernous void.
Dog ironies
amid anxieties.
,
,
OJ is not doing well since Dusty went to the Rainbow Bridge. We’ve tried swaddling as per Thundershirt. We’ve got the Rescue Remedy. He’s in his safe, contained space. We fill the Kong with goodness. Still the dog thinks the world is ending when I walk out the door. Got any other suggestions? Except a new dog companion. Hubby imagines a dog-free household in our near future. (I’m allergic to cats, so that’s not an option either).
Shawn L. Bird 