A home Is built of its inhabitants, Necessary timbers Whether green or splintered.
Each passing Welcomes the enemy of change; Mourning the spirit who has passed And a home that will never be again.
I hesitate to write Because doing so makes it real. Mack’s spirit of shameless exuberance Has come...and gone.
Gone... The penetrating brown-eyed stares that spoke his thoughts, The desperate search for bare feet after a long drink, The innocent trampling to be near us, And the nibbling of noses when he arrived.
Gone... The teetered circling at the door, The free-spirited bellyflops into the pool, The joyful tromps to retrieve the right ball, And the desperate chomping of bubbles, and snowballs, And newly fallen pine needles.
I am haunted by his shuffling paws Pacing the worn pine planks, My son’s tranquility As Mack napped safely in his arms, Mack’s hobbling thump Making his way up to bed, And warm paw in my hand anchoring my sleep.
Mack-Attack, Fragile Frankie, Whack-O Mack-O, Crazy Lips. The thirteen-year-old puppy every boy needs Leaves us mourning for the joy With which he graced our family.
”Why and old dog?” they asked. For selfish reasons I believe. They age...and fail regardless of us. Yet, opportunities to offer the abandoned and confused Dignity, comfort, and security Are the greatest of all blessings.
I long for the moment We are reunited. But for now he whispers, “Be vigilant. The next blessing awaits.”