The Journey

Tonight, our old dog breathed her last. I knew it was coming, I had watched her hobble around all day, putting off calling the vet. I even made a list of those I should call - old and new friends who had known her. Of course, I wouldn't call for them, I would call for me.

Princess was 16 plus years, a sheltie and just a great dog. She loved the kids and they loved her and for Ellen and Nathan, they hardly know life without her.

I wish I were a delicate crier. I know many friends of mine who cry politely and neatly, almost beautifully. Not me. Even though I tried to comfort myself with the idea that she had a long, very happy canine life there was still this pinch in my heart where grief tends to collect and as I watched Princess take her last struggling breaths, that grief spilled out and I cried big, awkward sobs.

I came home and reached for the only thing that I know can speak to a broken heart - -poetry. The poem that seems most helpful is nothing at all about a dog or dying but it is a great poem and I'm grateful for people like Mary Oliver.

http://www.english.uiuc.edu/maps/poets/m_r/oliver/online_poems.htm