the day comes

we mourn the loss

of dogs
hard, if not harder than

others that we love.
their lives shorter than

ours for the most part.
ten years

or more.
maybe twelve.

then old age embraces them.

like us the legs go,
the vision blurs. the hearing

shot.
they hardly come when you
call.

they sleep long, or not
at all.

when the child was the young
the dog
was too.

so many pictures line
the shelves.

the puppy, and you. and then
the day comes.

always. the day comes

and you are left with the bed,

the still ball.

the food and dish from where

he ate.

the leash hung on the hook

in the hall.