Monday, September 7, 2015

A Poem--When the Old Dog Dies

I wrote this poem a few months ago when my dog, Zoey, died. Her lifetime companion and littermate, Franny, died on Saturday. We are now without dogs or cats for the first time ever. My animal friends have always been my best friends and I look forward to seeing them again someday. 

Here is a poem I wrote when Zoey passed on, which I have now edited to include Franny's passing.

When the old dog dies
I will no longer have to step carefully over her sleeping form
As I rise from bed and feel my way to the toilet in the dark.

When the old dog dies
I can take the ratty old blanket from off the couch
where we sit for hours watching classic movies and eating popcorn.

When the old dog dies
No one will insist I go for walks twice every day
And no one will pull me out the door into rain, into snow, into blistering August heat.

When the old dog is gone
I can eat my meals in peace and quiet
And not have to share bites off the edges of my toast.

When the old dog dies
I can take the beach towels off the car seats and vacuum out all the fur and return the the van from a rolling dog house
Fit for human passengers again.

When the dog finally dies
I can put fancy cheeses in the refrigerator drawer that now houses two pounds of raw, four-meat canine blend from the butcher shop and and a variety of half-chewed bones.
When the dog is gone
I can go to the mall all afternoon and maybe even take in a movie
Without wondering how she is doing home alone.

When the old dog has gone
I won’t have to search for missing shoes
she has carried from the closet and stashed in odd piles about the house.

After the old dog dies
I can sleep until noon if I want to
And no one will jab me with a cold, wet nose over and over and over again until I give up and get out of bed.

After the old dog is gone
I can get dressed in peace
Without her barking and dancing in happy circles as if my life’s purpose was to take her out for a stroll or a ride in the car.

How much quieter, roomier, cleaner the house will seem without her constantly by my side.


  1. Very nice poem...I would add one word to the poem,

    Sadly, how much quieter, roomier, cleaner the house will seem without her
    Constantly by my side.
    How's Franny doing?

  2. Thanks for leaving a comment, David. I felt the "sadly" aspect of things was implied. Billy, however, made a similar comment as you.