I think about another dog

i think about a dog.
getting one.
but the thought persists
for about three
seconds. i think back to
those cold wet days
with the last dog,
begging him to do his
business
under a bush in a foot
of snow.
the vet bill was never
less than 400 dollars.
each dead thing he rolled
in or ate
he ended up in the mayo
clinic for animals.
on iv's, in traction,
quarantined.
the nails, the teeth,
the fleas. the shedding.
the chewed up couch,
the chairs,
the accidents he'd leave.
i loved him and he loved
me. but it was a hard
life for the both of us.
leaving him alone
all day, sometimes at night.
him getting fat and
old, grey and long in
the tooth, not unlike
me. there was love, between
us, but the thought
of getting another,
please.