| 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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