I returned late from visiting my uncle in Florida. This week, I share one of my favorite poems by William Stafford.
Old Dog
Toward the last in the morning she could not
get up, even when I rattled her pan.
I helped her into the yard, but she stumbled
and fell. I knew it was time.
The last night a mist drifted over the fields.
In the morning she would not raise her head–
the far, clear mountains we had walked
surged back to mind.
We looked a slow bargain: our days together
were the ones we had already had.
I gave her something the vet had given,
and patted her still, a good last friend.
– William Stafford, from Someday, Maybe
Poetry Friday is held at The Opposite of Indifference. Tabatha is thinking ahead about National Poetry Month.
Happy Reading.
MsMac
Thank you for sharing this poignant poem. It brought back memories of our first dog, Smarty, “a good last friend.” =)
I love that line too.
Mm. So much said in so few stanzas. We lost our big old dog at the end of summer, and this poem takes me right to him. (And our small old dogs have given us a scare or two lately, but they’re still hanging in there!) Thanks for sharing, Jone.
I read this poem whenever we lose a pet.
Stafford has such a good and clear voice, says those things we want to say just right. This is beautiful, Jone. Thank you!
Doesn’t he though? An amazing person.
Remembering our dogs now, and the stillness that came after those visits to the vet…
I know they give us such unconditional love and break our hearts.
Aww. so heartwarming. I will share this with a soul sister who has just recently lost her beagle and she still grieves about it.
Pingback: Comment Challenge 2013: A Running Update |
Pingback: Poetry Friday: When to Say Good-bye « Check It Out