Friday, November 28, 2008

The Morning After Thanksgiving At The Cuttlefish House

Last night, as I slept, very unlike a log,
Our garbage-can served as a feast for the dog.
I awoke to a smell which I sadly knew meant
That she'd taken a dump on my room's heating vent
(She's a very old dog, very grey in the jowls,
And losing all conscious control of her bowels)
As the temperature dropped, and the furnace went "voom"
The aroma of dog shit enveloped the room,
And I realized, while cleaning up after the beast,
This was likely the work of her Thanksgiving feast.

In a month, the old girl will be fifteen years old;
She can no longer run; she is too often cold;
She is nearly stone deaf, growing gradually blind,
And her stiffening joints have been... other than kind.
For so many years, she's been such a good friend
But on mornings like this, yes, we're nearing the end,
And to thank her for all of the years that have passed
I just clean up her mess (and I clean it up fast).
It's a strange little rite that I go through each dawn,
But too soon both the smell and the dog will be gone.

8 comments:

podblack said...

This reminds me. I went around to in-laws, after the operation of my mother-in-law.
I was too afraid, in the rather depressed atmosphere in the house already, what with the long recovery period, the repeat operation and the belief that she 'was a burden on everyone', despite our protests that she was hardly that...
...to ask where the dog was.
The dog who was around pretty much as long as I can remember dating my husband. Who was going blind from cataracts. Who I still called 'puppy'.
The dog wasn't there. All through the afternoon, all through dinner. In fact, no left-over dinner was put aside for him.
I didn't say anything. Still haven't.
Considering how things are going, I don't know if I can. :(

Cuttlefish said...

*hugs*

Cath@VWXYNot? said...

What a lovely but very sad poem... poor old girl.

Cuttlefish said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Sergio said...

Such a sad ending- But, I enjoyed reading this.

...even if it was a bit disheartening, you write well.

mandydax said...

My cat, Spot, is getting up in years, too. She can hardly jump onto the bed anymore, and she's so stiff. :( Like you, though, I'm so glad to have had my dear pet and to still have her now. *hugs*

Gudloysi said...

I was brought to tears reading that. It's so similar to what happened to my old dog, who died in May this year. She was blind and deaf and arthritic, but what did the job, was that she was also senile. I miss her so.

On a happier note. I've bought your book, and I can't wait to read it. I have to wait another two weeks though.

mindlesley said...

We’re going to a different placeWe’re going to another spaceWhere dogs can run without collar or leadTo check their speed.To chase a stick but refuseTo bring it back.We’re going to a different placeWe’re going to another spaceA park with no signsTo stop us being here.A spot for rolling in -Without sin, without fear.A dirty place, a smelly place … somewhereTo bury bones and things they don’tWant us to keep …Somewhere To dig a big hole.We’re going to a different placeWe’re going to another spaceTrees and bush where dogs can meetAnd sniff each other all over …A nice quiet place to bark and howlWith soft cars you can chase but which can’tRun you down … like that bad car Did to my ”friend “Night”.We’re going to a different placeWe’re going to another spaceThat other place just makes me whineI don’t want to do no more timeThey tie you up and shut you downYou know what happens there …They lie, they beat you up, they Poison you, dogs and humans die.We’re going to a different place We’re going to another spaceA chance to play in the sun,Sit under a treeRun on the beachSwim in the sea,A place to be freeWe’re going to a different placeWe’re going to another spaceBut at night when the mooon is black,And it rains, thunders and the wind blows …I want my owner to knowEnough to come and take me backTo my bed at home ...I’ve been to a different place.I wrote this song as a tribute to my dog, Night, who got run over. He used to whine every time I refused to take him to a spot he was accustomed to playing in. So I started to sing this song "We're going to another place ..." slight influence by Guantanamo. I only finished it after he died.Excuse formatting glitches. Have done 15 songs for dogs. Thought if the kids have songs written for 'em why not dogs? Mindy xxx PS can someone tell a poor old aussie hag how to edit poetry on your site, the caps are naturally where pars should go. thanx.