ODE TO AN OLD DOG
Henry turned twelve on Sunday.
He is diabetic. He prefers an...
ODE TO AN OLD DOG
Henry turned twelve on Sunday.
He is diabetic. He prefers an amble
to a walk. He snores so loudly that he
can’t hear anything else,
and so he sleeps
through the doorbell
and the mailman.
But still, in the snow yesterday, he turned
happy circles. He kept looking up
at me and wagging his tail. I knew
what he was saying:
here we are!
Here
we are.
Henry turned twelve on Sunday.
He is diabetic. He prefers an amble
to a walk. He snores so loudly that he
can’t hear anything else,
and so he sleeps
through the doorbell
and the mailman.
But still, in the snow yesterday, he turned
happy circles. He kept looking up
at me and wagging his tail. I knew
what he was saying:
here we are!
Here
we are.
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