My dog

I could tell my dog was going to die. I wore his sadness like wet clothes. His little face drooped into what I could only imagine to resemble Long Island, New York. He sat on the terrace under a dappled autumnal light his wilting eyes oozing black goo and me, sitting beside him. I gagged a little bit because his ears were infected badly too. I regretted that in his old age we didn’t care for him or did we ever really? I petted his ear until it went soft his body shifted to allow me to tuck into him and I did, resting my head somewhere on his shoulder or his stomach or his leg. I thought about our history or was it memories my tears amalgamated into his black and white figure like watery knowledge into a hard past. Yes it’s true we didn’t always get along when we first met I took hold of his leash and he galloped away dragging me along the ground; maybe he just wanted someone to run with. Either way I didn’t let go.

I didn’t let go.