Poppy
December 18th 2004
Just found out my dog Poppy died on Monday. It was something we all expected, like it could happen anytime. After all, she was fourteen years old. But like most things you expect to happen, there’s always that feeling that it won’t happen today, but sometime way off in the future that you don’t have to worry about yet. That’s how this was.
What a good dog, though. A good friend. I’ll always remember her like that. Always happy, always carrying something in her mouth, always wagging her tail… just a perfect dog for a kid growing up. I can’t say I’m not crying right now. It is sad. But she had such a good life; if I were a dog, I would want to have lived like that. Especially over the last year, when she had finally gone completely deaf — we joked about how much she must like it, how she could sleep all day and no one woke her up! It must have been nice.
I just felt like I should memorialize her somehow. So, a picture and a poem for my best childhood friend, may she rest in peace.
Poppy
Feeling stressed?
Well, I am.
Millions of to-dos,
And other have-tos,
And needs and want-tos.
But you?re not really pressured at all,
Not like me.
You get to laze around all day,
Watching the clouds,
And birds, go by.
You lucky dog, you.
The biggest worry in your life
Is deciding how to respond
When I look you in the eyes;
Whether to stare me down, or not.
You just turned ten, you know.
But you don?t know that,
Makes no difference to you anyway.
I don?t know what I?d do
Without you, though.
Your unconditional love,
Big brown eyes, soft hair,
Friendly attitude;
And there?s always that twinkle of
Impossible understanding
In your eyes.
Tristan Harward - 11/2001