April 5, 2005
A Sonnet for Nic Nic

Benu’s Promise 

On My Dogs Getting Old

Poseidon's Prerogative

Knowing Bill Shurr

Moving On

Reflections From The Frog Pond

Things That God Doesn’t Even Notice

Exploding Sunshine

George Bush in Hell

 

On My Dogs Getting Old

His muzzle once mahogany
now flecked with white
he looks up at me with cloudy eyes 
and struggles to get up He wags 
and rubs against my leg

She coughs a bit after 
running to intimidate 
a visitor  a deer  a squirrel  Chubbier than the 
vet advises  She climbs into my lap 
and cuddles

What will I do when Elvis and Foxy 
the warmth and laughter of my every day 
are no more Yet I know
that a date certain is coded
in their DNAs

The very thought conjures ghosts
Tuffy  Pixie  Sandy  BoughBough  Paddington 
SugarBear  Raggamuffin  Muts mixed and full breeds
Their short lives each dedicated 
to my life’s joy

Warm apparitions
Close soft fur  nibbled fingers  frenzied chases
tugs o war  joyful yaps  woodsy races
creek bank walks  tummy rubs  licked faces  They were
now are no more

And what will I do 
when these two are no more
When my life feels 
just a little
cold and silent

Forrest C. Greenslade, PhD
April, 2007
Presented April 2009 at McIntyres Books in Fearrington Village, NC

In the two months since I read this poem, we lost both of our best friends. Our boy Elvis died first. Then, Foxie just stopped eating and died two weeks later. They lie  together again in our garden.



Elvis and Foxie in their primes, a painting by Kathryn Greenslade Armstrong

 

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