They found you
at the shelter -
skin and bone.
A beautiful Vizla,
pedigree pure
and aching
for love.
They called you Max.
Always a follower
(Nicholas took all the bones)
your rubbery mouth
would crumple
as you lay -
all legs and love -
on the couch.
When Nicholas died
you were lost.
Then Sam arrived
and gave you permission
to follow
again.
They removed
the tumour a few years ago
(a third of your body weight)
and the very next day
you were down at the park,
burnished coat gleaming,
bursting with life.
Today they took you
to the vet
for the last time.
You were seventeen years old.
Alison Cassidy
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-peaceful-death-kedvelt-kutya/
