“Let’s go boy!”
Rising shakily until you are up on all paws, you hobble to the top of the stairs. Your front paws descend the first step, but your eyes beg for me to do the rest.
I lift your sixty pounds, bending at the knees to save my back.
Leaning against my chest, you shake because you fear the pain of being set down.
I place you in front of the door, you need go no further, the sun is waiting for you on the porch. I run my hands over your glossy black coat and words of love cram in my throat.
I bury my face in your neck. Remembering everything I will miss about you one day when you are gone. How you kiss my tears when motherhood is overwhelming, and the way you lean on me when I need support.
My heart breaks because I snap at you, more than you deserve. My patience level is low, and most of it goes to the toddler.
You were so tolerant when our son arrived.
You gently remind us when we forget your dinner or breakfast—the cat is not so subtle.
I whisper, “I’m sorry.”
Looking up at me and smiling into the sun as if to say, “Being sad is a waste of this day.” I realize dogs don’t want apologies for the past nor promises for the future. They just want to share the moment with you.