Posts Tagged losing a pet

Best Dog Ever!

She was just a mutt, but smart as a whip, and a person couldn’t ask for more loyalty and love than she gave us.

If the Clock is Ticking

The old dog makes pitiful soundsdog-office-0031

Sleeping there by my desk

Sometimes she sounds almost human

Whining as she sneaks toward the end

There’s a ringing in my ears

Not loud, but steady

Not that it bothers me

I just notice it at times like these

Times when the house is silent

And I’m alone with my thoughts

And the ringing

And the old dog

The ceiling fan moves the air

Ever so slightly… soundlessly

If the clock is ticking…

I can’t hear it

Copyright © 2012 C. Mashburn

 

 

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My Dog Taught Me This

 

Our little dog, Dockers, passed away four years ago. She was seventeen years old, and we had watched her age with a sadness tinged with awe. She was nearly blind, almost deaf, and even her keen sense of smell had faded, but her love and loyalty to me and Sherry were as strong and unwavering as ever. Read the rest of this entry »

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I Hope She Knows

A light, steady rain was falling this morning, so for my exercise I rode my stationary bike in the den. As I finished the ride, and as happens often these days, thoughts of my little old dog drifted into my mind. Read the rest of this entry »

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I Should Be Hercules by Now

I’m not looking for more sympathy, but after spending the last few days with an aching heart, I couldn’t hold this one in. I do appreciate the condolences from everyone, but just so you know, I’m okay and this poem is not indicative of my frame of mind. The painful loss of my old dog is beginning to ease, and the wonderful memories of her are starting to take the place of the pain of losing her. I hope you enjoy this poem. Read the rest of this entry »

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I Thought I Was Ready

Our little dog, Dockers, is gone. We’ve known this day was coming for a while, but even so, it caught us unprepared. She had good days and bad days, but most of the time she did okay. She couldn’t hear or see very well, and I think her sense of smell was weak, but she could still taste, and loved to eat. Usually, she was happiest if she could have some of what I was having. I couldn’t go into the kitchen without her on my heels. The fact is, she was on my heels all day every day for the past couple of years. I called her Bubba Dog for years, but had recently taken to calling her Bug, because that what she did–bug me all day. She could tell time, and knew when it was time for a walk, time to eat, or time for her daily treats.

I wasn’t gonna write this poem yet, but Mary’s prompt for the Saturday dVerse Poets Pub “Poetics” feature said, “Oh, yes you are”, so here it is. It was a tough one to write, but I had to do it. Thanks for taking the time to read it. Read the rest of this entry »

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