Happy 7th birthday, Arwen

April 26, 2020

 

How can it be that seven years have passed since that terrible spring when we lost Mira, then went to Boston and lived through the bombings?

Just a few short days after our return from Boston, on April 26, 2013, I learned that your litter had been born, and that the yellow female I'd requested was for real.

You were a character from the get-go: your tail never, ever stops wagging, and you have become perhaps the most water-oriented of any dog I've had. You have a boundless energy: I don't think I've ever found the bottom of it, if there is one. You are an athlete, and you run like the wind and jump like an acrobat.

You can't even abide hearing the word ''bad'': you run and hide on the rare occasions when I forget your sensitivity and use that word on anyone else. All you want to do is be good, to please, to love and be loved.

The poem below isn't just about you; it's an amalgam of all the dogs who have ever walked beside me. But right now, you're one of those, and it's your birthday.

 

When we walk

Brown sugar eyes look up at me

Striding shoulder by my knee.

 

When we walk

Collar links to leash then hand

Symbol we both understand.

 

When we walk

Seems like no time at all has passed

Between our first walk and our last.

 

When we walk

You lead me and I lead you

We are one, and we are two.

 

When we walk

Mischief mouth steals my mitt

Tugs it off and carries it.

 

When we walk

I accept that there is no forever

Yet know our bond will never sever.

 

When we walk

The young you scampers on ahead

The old you ambles, sniffs, is led.

 

When we walk

We have our rhythm, we are a rhyme

Bide beside me across time.

 

 

 


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