My Old Friend Rusty

Last week you had your twelfth birthday.
Were you human, you’d be starting to play,
but as a Corgi, twelve is getting rather old.
Time has worn you down, truth be told.

You no longer have the energy to run all day.
Your eyes don’t sparkle in that youthful way.
Chasing squirrels, you now run much slower
and jump against the tree trunk somewhat lower.

The neighbor’s cat has lost his fear of your attack.
When you chase him, he sees you come limping back.
He now walks across the back yard showing scorn,
for he knows your hip joints are too time-worn.

At night no longer are you able to jump onto our bed.
Even jumping onto the sofa is something you dread.
You wait to be lifted off, for it hurts you to jump down.
You’re looking old; in your muzzle gray hairs abound.

Inside you, there’s still the urge to play, to chase a ball.
Knowing it’ll cause you pain, I won’t play much at all.
Disappointed again, you look at me with eyes so sad,
wondering whether I am punishing you for being bad.

Sleeping on the sofa beside me, I stroke your head.
I think of all the shared moments – past and ahead.
You’re a great dog, Rusty, and I promise to make
your declining years be comfortable…for love’s sake.

Time is unkind to us all. To life’s very end we must try
to persevere. I understand, for “an old dog” also am I.


Please check out my ten books:
http://www.amazon.com/Jr.-Harry-E.-Gilleland/e/B004SVLY02/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0