Losing Jake

There's a hole in my heart where a dog used to be.
He's nuzzled my soul and is now part of me.
His pain is his life and I know what to do.
But when I release him, I'm losing me, too.
The puppy I cradled three short years ago
is a ninety pound bundle of love and I know
that he'd lick away all of my tears if he could.
It's his sense of duty to make me feel good.
It's my obligation to do what is best.
The love of his "master" is put to the test.
It's a wrenching and sorrowful way that we part;
it doesn't hurt less when the head rules the heart.
There's a hole in my heart where my Jake has passed through.
When we say goodbye part of me will go too.

 

If Only

             If only my dog had stood on his stand,
             When I gave him the signal: A move of one hand.
             If only he'd stayed on the one minute sit.
             Instead of deciding that 50 seconds was it.
             A figure 8 perfect, I could almost boast;
             If only he'd gone round the other post.
             If only he'd dropped on the signal I gave,
             And not when he saw the spectator wave.
             The retrieve on the flat - he knew what to do;
             If only he'd brought back the dumbbell I threw.
             The high jump retrieve - the only thing he lacked,
             And that dumbbell he didn't bring back.
             On the broad jump, if only he'd jumped all the way,
             and not tiptoed between to my utter dismay.
             When I signaled the glove it was there in plain sight;
             If only he'd gone for the glove that was right.
             His go-out was perfect - he just went so far;
             If only he hadn't both times jumped the bar.
             We'd have had a 200 - he could do everything,
             If only he hadn't run out of the ring.
             Author Unknown

 

Ode To Mr. Chewman

So carefully were you chosen so many months ago
By a happy rottie puppy when his mommy let him go.
They'd come to shop for toys that day and it was you he took.
How could we know in later days you'd end up with this look?
You whiled away the happy hours with the little rottie boy
From time to time forgotten, but still his favorite toy.
The spins you took in the washer never seemed to bother you
But as this day grew closer I wonder if you knew.
On a hot and sunny summer day, no different from the rest
I heard a distant rumbling, more storms coming from the west?
By then the floor was shaking and the walls were trembling too,
"Look out!", I cried, "A rottie stampede!" but it was too late for you.
Both boys it seems had chosen you to play with on that day
And the tug of war that followed had you caught amidst the fray.
I heard your laces giving way that horrid ripping sound
I didn't hurry down the stairs. I knew what would be found.
There was stuffing in the hallway. There was stuffing on the stair.
There was stuffing on the carpet. There was stuffing in the air.
There was stuffing on the sofa. There was stuffing on the wall.
There was so much stuffing, I thought I'd never find it all.
There was stuffing in the kitchen. There was stuffing in my hair.
There was stuffing in the stereo. How did that get there?
I finally found your unstuffed form sprawled limply on the floor.
Your head was ripped your arm half off I knew you'd play no more.
I cast about and hunted for your squeaker long I quested.
But it was no where to be found, it must have been ingested.
I can not say that I was shocked by what they did my friend.
I only hope your sweet revenge will come out in the end.
Judith D. Steele 7/24/95

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