I’ll wait for another post to catch you up on some of the things that have changed since my husband died. It’s a long list, including a move to a much smaller house — with all of my dogs.
While sorting through my outdated collection of “draft” posts, I came across the beginning of one that included a loved poem about the relationship between a human and his dog. And while the language in Gene Hill’s poem is male, we are what friends have called “a five-pack of badass bitches.” One of them, my hound dog, is shown above — resting after a long, hard day of keeping an eye on me.
The girls have kept me going, given me a reason to get up in the morning, and made me accountable. They may be “just” my dogs… or they may have saved my life.
He is my other eyes that can see above the clouds;
my other ears that hear above the winds.
He is the part of me that can reach out into the sea.
He has told me a thousand times over that I am his reason for being;
by the way he rests against my leg;
by the way he thumps his tail at my smallest smile;
by the way he shows his hurt when I leave without taking him.
(I think it makes him sick with worry when he is not along to care for me.)
When I am wrong, he is delighted to forgive.
When I am angry, he clowns to make me smile.
When I am happy, he is joy unbounded.
When I am a fool, he ignores it.
When I succeed, he brags.
Without him, I am only another man.
With him, I am all-powerful.
He is loyalty itself. He has taught me the meaning of devotion.
With him, I know a secret comfort and a private peace.
He has brought me understanding where before I was ignorant.
His head on my knee can heal my human hurts.
His presence by my side is protection against my fears of dark and unknown things.
He has promised to wait for me… whenever… wherever – in case I need him.
And I expect I will – as I always have.
He is just my dog.
– Gene Hill
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