I’ve been avoiding writing about my dog again.
In the bum-rush hustle and bustle
two new puppies and three kids
I don’t have a lot of quiet time
alone in my mind.
I can avoid
the paw shaped hole she
rent from my chest this spring.

The new puppies are black, mutts, abandoned—
the same as she. 
I had forgotten the youthful vigor
she once had.
I’d grown used to her groans and moans
her rapt bark of attention: “Come fetch me!” 
when she’d had enough of the rain or the heat.
Everyone knows the bargain
when you adopt a dog—
this is not forever.
Their whole life could not be 
the same length as ours.
No physical form
could possibly contain a dog’s love and light
for too long.

So I fetch my two pups—
lanky, growing all the time—
digging in the yard outside.
They cock their heads sideways at me
as the tears I’d been avoiding
come crashing down on them.