about my
dog Moe, dearly departed,
crazy Moe,
a short haired
wild eyed Dachshund.
ten years gone
he's still in my head,
in my bed,
at my feet.
i hear him bark and growl.
i can feel the weight
of him in my lap.
his rough wet tongue licking
my knee.
that noise in the kitchen
is him in the trash.
at some point i should
throw his dog
dish out, and take his
leash off the hook.
he never saw a truck
that he didn't want to chase,
or a mailman he didn't
want to bite.
i have a picture of him
trying to
get into the tv,
barking at a cartoon horse.
would i get another one,
another dog?
i take the folder of vet
bills out,
and examine the cost.
every time he ate something
dead in the woods
i had to take him to the mayo
clinic for dogs.
so, would i get another one,
nah, not on your life.
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