WILLY'S DEAD

When I first saw him he was
eleven weeks old.

He was scurrying around a trashy kitchen
In York, Maine; he needed a home.

He was the runt of a litter of champions
And the last one to go.

His father was the American champion,
And in the picture he looked leonine
In all his competitive glory.

We brought him home in the old Malibu
And we stopped along the way to walk him.

He made the transition
From last of the litter to loving home
With a certain puppy grace
That was a mere foreshadow.

That night I walked him on a nearby golf course
And let him run a little. He disappeared.

I called and called his name, but he was gone;
So in the end in desperation
I just ran in all directions, whistling.

He came to me out of the night; he seemed relieved
To find me again.

Even today when I whistled
He tried to come.

Over the next fourteen years
Willy and I became one in a way.

He always had to know where I was,
And if I was away, he would wait at the door.

When we watched television he always wanted to be
Where he could look at me. And, he liked to
Watch TV, too.

Every night I would get down on the floor and
Play with him; as the years went by
Our play time became more and more gentle.

He was nearly blind and almost totally deaf,
But he still had a playful spirit, and to the very end
He was a gorgeous golden retriever with
Fur so soft, and eyes so knowing that
I just couldn't take mine off of him.

I held the doctor's hand and watched milligram
By miligram as the agent of death swept into
His veins.

My face was right next to his,
The way he always liked it, when he passed on.

When I showered this morning I cried in
The spray and saw it all happen just as it did.

I felt the change was coming and when he died
I felt it all come true.

There is some part of me that wants to love him
And now it's too late.

There is some part of me that regrets so much
And now it's too late.

There is some part of me that can't bridge the void,
And now it's getting bigger and deeper.

In the end he was lying on the linoleum floor
Of the veterinarian's office in a perfect
Dog galloping pose.

Arms and legs out, head up.
Still.

I tucked his tongue into his mouth
And watched my tears drop on his face
And run down as though they were his too.

We cried together.

I loved that dog
Like a fire loves a log.

He made me a better man.
And there's no way in the world
I made him a better dog.

He gave something to me
So wonderful, so beautiful, so vast
In its simplicity
That even now that
Willy's dead

He is not dead to me.

-- August 2, 2004.

[by Bill Purdin]

~ ~ ~ ~ ~