I’m supposed to be working on a short story submission, but I got looking through my old poetry. I really like this one. Blackie was such a good dog. And I still miss her.
Blackie
©Kathy Larson
She was our first, and only, family dog.
We got her from the SPCA,
A little ball of black and tan fur.
Our son, for whom the puppy
Would be a companion and also
‘life lessons,’ named her:
Blackie Bear Rosa, a mouthful, for sure,
But he couldn’t settle on just one,
So we laughed and said why not?
Within days she became just ‘Blackie’;
It was the name her ears perked up to.
This puppy, who would eat with her
Back legs waving in the air made us laugh,
Made us glad to buy chew toys and treats
And special dog blankets and an old fashioned
Wind-up clock that we wrapped inside a baby
Blanket to keep her quiet and comforted at night.
While she was little she held our son’s attention,
But as with most ‘family’ pets, she soon became
Mine.
And I loved her, utterly and completely.
She was my companion on the days waiting
For the school bus to bring our boy back,
She took me on long, soul-searching walks,
Walked me out of depression, walked me out of
Walking out.
For fifteen years she was part of us and when
We had to take her in and put her to sleep
Part of me went with her. I cried for weeks after.
Walking in the door expecting the pit-pat, pit pat
Of her coming to greet me, or waking in the night,
Sensing her still there, at the side of my bed,
Dropping my hand down to touch emptiness.
All that remained was a lighter spot on the carpet
Where her rug had lain for all those years.
In time, the pain lessened, but not the loss.
Now, I remember her as a dear friend,
Visit her in photo albums, and, on occasion,
When we’re all together, say, “Do you remember when. . .?”
All That Matters 