We think of little things,
Poop on the floor and
Ticks and fleas, and
Oh crap! They’re on me!
They get in your way and
Always want to play.
You push them down and love
Them up, never once thinking
About this pup,
Who holds you dear, looks up and smiles
Then starts to act goofy, once in a while.
Feed and bathe, giggle when he melts with love,
Kick at him to get away from the stove.
Then one day
You’re faced with the death of a dog,
The empty space, the hollow bowl,
Your empty heart, with a gaping hole.
Say goodbye, one last time, cause this
Little guy died with his boots on.
© Krystal Dailey
July 1, 2006 – June 2, 2010
He was everything a good dog should be.
“The pain is so intense, because the joy was so intense.” – Wesley Smith