A Poem

The Last Walk
 
We were going to go away for the weekend
when the dog got sick.
 
It wasn’t the first time.
She’s old.
There’s a tumor.
Almost blind.
 
But something was different this time.
Unstable standing.
Lying down facing into a corner.
No eating.
No drinking.
Something was different.
 
She couldn’t climb the stairs.
And then,
She couldn’t raise herself up without help.
We knew
But
 
“She’s rallied by morning before “
we said.
But we knew.
There were no rallies left.
We were in the bottom of the 9th
With two strikes,
At best.
 
Plans were cancelled and the vet was called.
He could see us at 2 p.m.
“Maybe she’ll rally,”
We hoped/wished.
But we knew.
 
I coaxed her into our morning walk.
The last walk, I knew.
She hobbled and did her business,
But barely made it back to the house.
Climbing  the steps was labored
And needed my help.
 
There would be no rally.
We would see the vet at 2 p.m.
We would leave without her,
With that stupid hole in our hearts
that only a dog can leave.
We knew it.