An Old Friend is Fading

Some of you know Spencer, my fourteen-year-old Golden Retriever. This is about him.

Spencer Falling

Tonight’s stroll around the lake

was comfortable, warm  and calm

with the four of us – we two tailless bipeds,

leashed to Ginger and you, all sniffing

the sweet-scented summer air

at a slow pace. We talked our footsteps

in a weave about you and to you, pausing

at the picnic table when you looked tired.

You laid at my feet in the muggy shade

as I scratched behind your ears,

and I thought we could do this for a while.

But as we walked back to the car

I watched as your front leg gave out

and you fell hard onto the crushed gravel

of the path, filling the side of your mouth

with little stones. I called your name

and we rushed to your side as you struggled

to your feet. Your leg trembled as you stood,

and you leaned on me, looking up, panting

while I cleaned the pebbles from your mouth.

You took a few tentative steps, then sighed,

lowered your head and pushed on.

Matching your slow pace,

my eyes as big and wet as your tongue,

I did the same.