Conversation With a Dying Dog
*Note: Mani was diagnosed with Lymphoma in November 2019, just before Thanksgiving. She declined very quickly. I lost her on December 19, 2019, and wrote this poem on that very difficult day.
12/19/19
We sure had some fun, didn’t we?
Climbing mountains and sleeping in the tent on their tops
with clouds rolling in all around us.
Remember when those deer walked by our tent
when you were just a pup, and it was dark,
and you growled in your soft, tiny voice?
You watched them closely as they walked by
munching on grass just a few feet away,
and I whispered, “It’s OK. Those are deer.”
You were learning then about the great big world
when and how to protect us from it,
and when and how to let it all in.
Remember how stubborn you were!
A mirror to my own self!
You taught me to be gentler with all beings,
including ants and spiders and yes,
even me.
And all of those long rides in the car,
sleeping in the back seat with the moon
roof open under a crisp, clear winter sky
so full of prickly little stars.
You curled up tightly next to me under your blanket,
and I would reach over from time to time
to make sure you were warm enough.
And all the backpacking!
Oh my goodness!
We saw moose and deer and coyotes
and mountain lions and bears (from a distance, thankfully)
and you warned me of every single one,
again with your soft growl, or oh
those bright golden eyes looking up at me—
tiny galaxies of curiosity and light.
We sure did have fun,
waking up to rainbows and cliffs
draped in gold from the rising sun, and
walking across deep, frigid basins
waiting for those warm rays to touch us—
you in your bright orange coat and
me right behind you.
I promise we’ll still finish that trail, together.
I’ll carry you, like I always said I would if I had to.
I sure do love you.
And oh, do you remember going to
grandma and grandpa’s house?
And how you used to know exactly where
we were when we crossed the great big bridge
over the great big river.
And you’d start whining in excitement
and wouldn’t stop until we were there!
You love grandma and grandpa, don’t you?
You were always grandpa’s girl, I know.
I remember when you would sneak off the couch
once I was asleep, and go to their room,
climbing into their bed for the night.
I know.
And how you love your Justin,
and your Natasha,
and your Sean and Uncle Scott—
Words with more meaning than “chicken”
provoking the most intensely cute nub wiggles,
perked-up ears, and tilted head.
And speaking of words— oh, you and your words—
We were just getting started, weren’t we?
The things you could’ve said.
But I already knew.
Your favorite word is “love.”
That word holds more meaning for me now because of you.
It’s not just a word, is it?
No more “just a word” than you “just a dog.”
And as I told you about Bella when you were a pup,
I’ll carry your memory forward to any other dog
that might come into my life.
I will tell them you were The Best Dog.
You are The Best Dog, sweet girl.
I sure do love you.