As she lay dying
On her quilts at the foot of my bed,
The applause from the blaring TV downstairs
That my aging grandmother watches
Provides the usual background noise,
As if nothing is amiss,
On this bitter winter morning.

She quit eating days ago,
But rallies herself to take some water
Promptly throwing it back up -
Her digestive tract no longer functioning.
She manages to get up,
Stumbles to the back door,
Quivering from weakness,
Her hind legs unable to support
Even the wasted self she has become,
She makes it down the stairs to the yard
Where she manages to excrete something.
But on the way back up,
Her legs fail and she falls down
And can’t recover...

I carry her back up the stairs.
Cry on her behalf,
And on mine,
Shake my fist in the direction of
Whatever powers govern such sad events.
Surely she has suffered enough!
And I am unsure if I beg to be relieved
For her sake or my own.
There is not enough money
To pay for the kindness I wish I could afford her,
And I only know that the pain of my witness
Is nearly more than I can bear -
In a life screaming
For my energy to be spent elsewhere.

Yet I lay with her,
As she lay dying,
Stroke her fur
While she sighs breathfully,
And presses her sweet collie nose
Into the crook of my neck,
Asking questions I cannot answer.
I whisper that she is loved so very much
And it’s ok to let go -
God, please help her let go

11/20/2007

Author's Note: May, the dog we rescued this last spring, is finally dying and it's just about more than I can bear. I'm waiting for the local private shelter to open up to see if they can possibly help with what needs to happen for her. I don't hate much, but I definitely despise the way having money or not having money is the difference between suffering or relief.

Posted on 11/20/2007
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