I doubt there's anyone with a heart who hasn't felt what you're feeling now. I deal with pain by writing poems.
Gus
Way back when, at the age of ten,
my daughter came to me
and I asked, “What’s up?” “Dad, I want a pup,
can we have one pretty please?”
Well, I gave in fast to the favor asked,
so we made an action plan –
we’d find for sale, a minpin male
that was painted black and tan.
That tiny breed was the one we’d need,
since he’d be inside all day
where he’d guard our house like a mighty mouse
and he’d frighten thieves away.
When our search was done there was only one
we could find for miles around,
so I made my way out to west GA
to inspect the one we’d found.
In a neighborhood that was less than good
sat a house and out in back
was a patch of clay where some pups could play
near a little wooden shack.
I approached the pen that the brood was in
and out the toddlers ran,
except the one for which I’d come –
the only black and tan.
All the rest, I saw were dressed
in coats of reddish-brown –
I felt distraught, the one I sought
was nowhere to be found.
That little house with sides all doused
in Georgia mud and pee
just might provide a place to hide –
It’s where he had to be.
While on my knees, I had to squeeze
through a door so very small,
and way in back of that tiny shack
sat a furry little ball.
His tail was cropped and one ear flopped,
demeanor brave and spry,
his pedigree was plain to see –
such a handsome little guy.
Our attempts to train were all in vain –
a defiant little man
was very bold and if you tried to scold,
he’d likely bite your hand.
He knew his name, but he never came,
his attention rarely won –
the times I’d call or would throw a ball,
he would simply turn and run.
That little Gus was a part of us
our family held so dear,
we watched him age as he passed each stage
of a little dog’s career.
There came the day his fur turned gray,
by the age of seventeen,
it wasn’t clear he could see or hear –
and the house was his latrine.
His needs we’d tend to the very end
with our tender loving care,
‘cause don’t forget, he was not a pet,
but the child with darker hair.
We took a trip for some fellowship
to my little sister’s place –
since the yard was fenced, we were all convinced
that old Gus could have his space.
‘Twas a real nice day and a pleasant stay
but the time had come to go,
since the interstate wasn’t prone to wait
and the traffic home would slow.
But where was Gus? In all the fuss
we had simply dropped our guard,
so we rushed outside with the hopes we’d find
him somewhere in the yard.
But a tragedy was about to be
with an end no one could fix –
from the common rule that a swimming pool
and old dog just don’t mix.
When we got outside, we were horrified
at the sight that came our way –
through the water-clear was my greatest fear,
on the bottom – there he lay.
For all but me, it was plain to see
that his time had come and gone,
that his lungs were filled with the water’s chill –
but my hope was hanging on.
It took a while just to reconcile,
as I held him soaking wet,
and my mind flashed back to that little shack –
back where me and Gus first met.
That tiny pup that I first picked up
back in 1994
who had come to be such a part of me –
but a part he’d be no more.
I felt right then that I’d never mend
from the grief I felt that day –
that a heart bereft by the hole he left,
was a hefty price to pay.
But I lost the fight on a rescue site,
when a pair of pups in need
would steal my heart and become a part
of a man who loves the breed.
Now black and tan fills our house again
and the clock has been reset –
but the sand will pass through the hourglass
and again I’ll pay the debt.
The love one gets from beloved pets
always meets a certain fate,
but I have no doubt – when my time runs out
they’ll be waiting at the gate.
