Made it, Bubba

What I would have given
to be so singular a beauty, trimmed
coat, glistening golden tips
laughing yellow eyes
with his arrogance of dancing.

He only rises to unsteady
feet with help, accepts
these shortened days
I can get him down the stairs
grown taller yet he tries.

Today I say we’re driving
to the beach. Our treat big boy.
His sister always skeptical and Molly
always looking for a ride–who buys
an SUV to fit? No floor hump, please
where Maddie likes to hang.

So little time we’ve lived
short season to the next
between Sound and shore
though 1 AM or later
arriving, on the bridge
rising in full majesty
nose to taste the wind

saluting ocean was his way
attending to the languid water
every time seemed wondrous
to him and I and this he did again
nodding to his younger self in passing.

Made it, Bubba!

Mornings out on deck
an episodic ritual
bemused him
doubtlessly considered
scratching furiously by instrument
sucking coffee cooling fast
a loss of napping well.

Winter was our time
wet spray, cold bare beach
the very starkness
of one abstract plane of gray
ocean pressing sand, dogs
were harnessed pulling on
an ice flow heading north.

This trip was October
on the edge of quitting
scrubbing clean my journal
beautiful companion
managing as always
with this peasant’s life.

For two weeks like a saint
he didn’t seem to feel
the weedy stickers
those had always plagued
his paws his ruined paws
grotesquely sideways now.

The storm was days with passing
waves pummeling the sand
seen from the road Nor’easter?
Yeah that’s something.
On level ground he reengaged
each step forth a victory.

He and his sister were
well known at the sandwich shop
attentive, under foot
waiting on pulled pork
inviting little five year olds
Are those real SNOW dogs?
ambassadors from legend.

On daytrips south to Ocracoke
at the ferry’s open bow
they were happy in the weather
others cold and huddled.
“He’s so beautiful!” Like parents
of a rock star, we never
questioned who.

 On his behalf I accepted all
an aged king deserves
his pace disguised as regal
on a bittersweet last tour.

When the gabbing biddies
set both their wiener dogs
to ground within eyesight
he stood to duty once again
– a scourge of privilege still
had not been dealt with.

Beach stairs
year to the next replaced
in post-storm ritual, sacrificed
to Neptune’s angry children.
This year’s steeper version
down the cut-back dunes
was now beyond his balance
with a grunt at lifting sixty
pounds, we made it down.

Time stretched to this brief
infinity: waves receding
salt water bathing tired paws
the beach he’d run his whole
life lay before him.

First year he was Fish Dog
named for bate he’d
lifted from a bucket
behind the angler’s back
proud and gleeful, charging
up the sand, dead fish swinging
from its caudal fin. I’m bearing
this, our great repast!

We ran at sunset
bucking forward
swallowing miles of beach
–immortal youth with dogs
laughing for the fun
bounding, laughing to imagine
eight or more in tandem.
Arctic is a fascination
these animals as stand-ins
in a fable of endurance held since
boyhood taking after London.

Confirmed! Without refute the nose
will be the last to go, sweet
oiled salmon on the grill
still makes him happy
even with his feeble dancing
half inch off the floor.

The rap on dogs is hearsay
choosing people for companions
is a weakness, sometimes worse
misfortune, still they stay.
Of course they’re fed.
But are they?

As a Husky he stood by me.
launched himself at weather
no Inuit would chose
those times attacked the ice
instead of dodging sideways
roped-in runner sliding after
will not be further noted.

Howl to be remembered,
Bubba, howl when you’re ignored.
You ran by moonlight, howling
when phones disturbed the quiet
setting off a chorus
stereophonic through the house.

Silence of his napping
became a more extended sleep
pregnant silence then it wasn’t.

Home by Sunday, Thursday
one tired soul was done.
He laid his long chin down
on scattered kennel towels
laid on hard concrete
no rail against his fate.

Two weeks being oceanside
that smallest gift was laid
against his thirteen years
was what he gave me; only
saints go out like that.

On days the phones ring
across the house his silenced
sister does not answer; she’s
sleeping closer to us now
the wheel dog’s gone.