The Old Dog
Her once black muzzle is all white.
Her short legs can no longer propel
her long body up to her spot
on the sofa.
She can still bark.
Lift me up. Put me down.
Mostly she sleeps, on any lap,
or wrapped in a blanket.
Around her swirls the chaos
of a household of three adults,
two small kids, four other dogs.
8 thoughts on "The Old Dog"
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Wow, that’s a bustling household.
I’ve had old dogs, so I know what that’s like. I’m having trouble picturing this one, though. “Dog” is a generalization. What breed is this one? What color? Weight? Alpha ir runt or somewhere in between? Did she ever learn any tricks? What are her favorite snacks?
She’s a mini dachshund. Hence, short legs, long body.
Ah. We’ve had three corgis, so I was picturing one of those.
Our Old Cat has the same ability to sleep and ignore the fray–on my desk in the morning, on the porch in the afternoon, and on someone’s chest in the evening
Such a sweet poem. Senior dogs hold a special place in my heart. I had a beagle named Piper who lived to 15. Her entire face was snow white at the end. Your dog sounds wonderful.
A great poem. 🐾💜
Sweetness.
Bless her! I love her voice: “She can still bark./Lift me up. Put me down.”
Love your portrayal of this old dog. Especially liked the simplicity yet abundance in “She can still bark./Lift me up. Put me down.”