Quimby

I.
When the teenage boy down the hall would 
leave his dirty laundry on the floor, I’d get on him about it.
You would just go and get on the laundry.
Underwear.  Black socks.  Gray sweatpants—
100% cotton, made to keep a person warm in winter.
Heavy between your teeth, one leg turned inside-out, 
your own legs trying to keep from slipping 
as you dragged them out into the open,
all the way into the backyard if no one was looking.
One time you went over and stole a shirt from the neighbor.
Whose is this? I asked the next laundry day.
(Bark) Mine.  (Bark, Bark) Mine and Jean’s.

Why do humans wear perfume and 
burn candles to cover up their own smells?

There’s dirty laundry on the floor again.  
I miss you showing me how to use it for a pillow.
Pleasant dreams.

II.
Every night, you would lay at our feet in the living room,
between the couch and coffee table.  
When we’d get up to go to bed, 
you’d already be gone to the world.  
We’d shut the lights off and climb under the covers.  
10 minutes later, we’d hear you saunter through the door.
You knew your favorite side of the bed.  Same as me.  Her side.  
There, your paws would slip out from beneath you, 
as the last thing I’d hear, before a contented sigh, 
was the thump of your soft belly hitting the floor.  

I still miss that sound.  
 
III.
It’s raining outside.
I guess I don’t need to go after all.

You can go back inside.
I want to stay here and watch it till it stops.

You think I sleep all day while you’re at work.
I’m also just waiting for you to come home.

I don’t mind the rain or you being gone.
I love thinking about what’s going to happen next
anytime a door opens. 

IV.
The vet said there was nothing more they could do.
Turned out, that wasn’t true.
When she came back into the room, she brought a syringe,
a sedative, and a whole bag of treats.  Unopened!
Take as much time as you need.  

I gave you one treat, then two, then three.
You seemed fine, perfectly fine to me.
Then I remembered what we’d come for,
what we’ve all come for.
We’ve had all the time we need.

Within ten minutes you were in my lap,
the bag of treats completely empty beside us.
On any other day, a gift of that size might have killed you,
which would have killed me.  
But today it was all the time we needed to find us a rainbow.

What is dying but the thing we get to do for having lived.
And what is losing but a doorway through which more can now enter.
And what is a dog but a friend who will give us 
all the time we need to learn how sweet life is, unendingly so,
when masters finally become students.   

Cancer, hatred, sorrow, war.
They say there are things for which there are no cures.
But all that means is we don’t all get to live as long as we want to
(while some live longer than they know how to)
But I say where there is caring there is hope without end.

Author: David Pierce

I'm the one on the left. That's my favorite part on the right. I'm an ordained minister in the Presbyterian Church (USA) and the United Church of Christ. I work as Minister to a parish community in Cumberland, RI. That I could also see myself as a farmer, a cowboy, or Thoreau sitting pond-side at Walden is probably not insignificant. I don't blog about anything in particular, but everything I blog about is particularly important to me. That it may be to you as well is good enough for me. View all posts by David Pierce