He sits on the pillow, bedside me.
Soft brown ‘fur’ just demanding to be stroked,
long ears which have listened to my weeping in the night,
and dark eyes imploring me to end his now obsolete existence.
For once he had a purpose, a reason to be. A rare gift.
A birthday gift…..
He lived to be a representation of the presence of another,
to be held when they weren’t there, to give a sense of love when I was alone.
Yet this was all on the basis of another’s return, to hold him too and
offer thanks for the job he’d done.
A shared understanding between the three of us,
now he knows all he represents is an empty love.
The words of another which meant almost nothing,
cementing his desire to be humanely done away with.
His pain, although impossible to be shown, is so clear to be seen,
and I have often wondered recently how to let it all go.
My ponderings have conjured images of the written card, on the handle of the bag this gift came in,
the delicate letters expressing what he was intended to provide for me.
But it was what became unwritten that ended up meaning more,
and the ironic truth of a gift to represent, who now only serves to remind of what was.
He’ll always be ‘my dawg’, as the words another wrote had said.
As long as I never look into his eyes he will have a purpose,
and avoid those black mirrors which reflect the empty love, the broken promise.
Steve B 01/08