Eternal Spaniel
I still miss my cocker spaniel that died
July 5th 1982 at 3.08 PM
the day Italy beat Brazil 3-2 in the World Cup
which just goes to show how great I am of letting go
of those golden paws resting on my arm
infected ears flapping in the breeze
a loving tongue licking my eye
or wherever wet tongues go
when you’re dealing with
the embodiment of love and biscuits
a thirteen-year-old dog that left the world
of tapeworms and playful flesh decades ago
but still live on inside your heart
roaming through the forest sniffing squirrels
spitting out snails with a look of suburban disgust
short tail cutting air into pieces
once a puppy then a senior canine
pissing in all the wrong places
preferably on the expensive rug
in front of Marc Chagall
because the poor dog just wanted to die
and we wouldn’t let her
Love is such a clinging business
love is holding on to water stations
cuddles and spaniel spit
love is allowing your pet to sleep
in your bed until she pushes you out
and leave you on the floor
with a minor concussion
taking over everything
pillows armchairs bank vaults
the whole doggone universe
tongue out eager to please
snoring slightly under the cover
generously farting in all directions
while cancer spread in her body
and who knows what else was going on
under that golden dome of fur
So we took her to the vet
and for the first time in her life
she ran into the clinic instead of hiding
under a Saab as if she wanted to say
I’m going away in a heartbeat
just hold my paw when I cross
and I’ll never leave you
whether you want me to or not
Peter H. Fogtdal is a Danish novelist and poet from Copenhagen who lives in Portland, Oregon.
Works in English:
The poetry collection My Crimes of Gelato and
The Tsar’s Dwarf, a historical novel.
Yugen Quest Review 