
A Dog Story
(for Melody, who asked me how you get through this)
Dogs believe
everything. Sweet and trusting; wet nose
and panting breath. My Una was tender
silly. I loved to smell
her Tostito feet. She jammed herself
into my world: on the couch, the truck,
everywhere that wasn't wet. (I had to buy her
snow booties to protect her sensitive
feet.) She loved cats -- not chasing them
but licking them -- and our kitty regarded
her as Dog Mama. Una helped me see
beauty where others saw garbage.
But here's the thing.
Along with blonde fur, pink nose,
an outrageous sense of humor, her cells
possessed a self-destruction code. Triggered
when my son was born, the organs bloomed
black on the X-ray spelling doom. And I am
sorry you had to hear this. Too many
dog stories end this way. But dogs are born
beautifully flawed: their life cycles
finishing short.