I want to write this down, have it on paper or on disk. Not trust it to memory.
Place it away with those treasures of the others, worn collars and bits of fur, snapshots of old dogs that have graced our lives.
This is the painful part, the fading away, the coaxing to eat, the long deep sleeps or the restlessness in the night. The melody of nails clicking on the floor, panting in the dark, the stillness of sleep.
They get that old dogface, grey in the muzzle fading to the true about the eyes; framed by tracks of tears, those eyes own a depth that defies my description.
Even now, she’d chase that ball if just but asked.
She takes a bit of meat from the hand, tentative, first sniffing, almost turning away, there is little interest for food these days.
I think she’s just being kind.
They say that “time is fleeting”, I think they use the wrong four-letter word, “life” suits it more.
It’s funny how you’ll tell your dog things you’d never say to another living soul.
How do you say goodbye?
We don’t, we watch the T.V. and listen to the soft breathing coming from the corner just behind, our heart shifting with each irregularity or sigh.
We can never say goodbye.
For the longest while a tuft of auburn fur clung to a rose bush, the one nearest our kitchen door, a memento of Rosco, the old brown dog, cradled in the thorns.
And we could go there, see it sway, alive with the breeze, make believe he remained here still.
So much slips away from us, time, youth, old friends.
Memories become almost accidental, set in motion by a picture here, a bit of fluff there, becoming conversations replayed, time capsules reopened.
It’s all just such a marvel, each moment, every touch.
There are golden days ahead, take a moment to cherish the ones you love and leave a small kindness for the sake of us all.