I remember you,
young, a man new on his own.
He was, too.
You remember him, happy and free,
land for miles to see and under his feet.
It was yours, too.
Together you explored,
but sometimes you simply watched,
smiling with pride as he returned bur-filled but good tired.
Each fall came, and
the fire in the air sparked the fire in his heart
because he longed for the hunt and it had to be with you.
Sometimes he would find the birds
and other times he fetched.
Oftentimes, though, he ran far ahead and you’d have to get firm,
swearing under your breath
He can do better.
Old dog came back, every time, and you always forgave him because he was so happy among the field of orange-colored vests.
Each fall he grew another year older,
so did you, lines dashing your eyes like the gray on his.
Now it seems this farm boy didn’t expect,
that with each passing year, that dog stole more heart space
until he became the extra limb waiting at the gate each morning,
ready for his place with you.
Ready and waiting, eager for the new day’s adventure with our best human.
(Taking part in Backyard Sister’s cinquain writing challenge):
Just one more day…
To run among the field.
Disease spreads fast, his body goes.