Member-only story
Ode to an Old Dog
My dog is old, with terrible breath and rheumy eyes.
His nose is crusty and he loves to scratch it, hard,
On my denim-covered knee. He’s wobbly-footed
On slippery floors — but he can still gallop
Through the soft desert sand, smiling,
As he pauses to catch his breath in the shade
Of a juniper tree. He looks up into its branches,
Undisturbed by the aerial bombings of
Angry hummingbirds. He appreciates nature
More than any sentient being I know.
I love his heart and soul to pieces.
But as he ages into his final years,
He has become less observant and
Shaggier than any dog has a right to be,
As if his Malamute-Great Pyrenees-Collie
Genes have combined to form “Canine Velcro.”
Things stick to him — cockleburs, goat-heads,
And once, a huge, dead cockroach. Then,
One day, he sat on a dead bird.
My friend said, “Your dog has something
Stuck to his butt, probably a stick.” But
It was only a desiccated bird’s rigid, stick-like legs.
A dead bird is not something you…
