It was a cursed morning, overcast, still and echoless,
the dog came into the kitchen, limped slightly,
problems with her hips in mornings, yawned,
looked at me wanted to go out;
I didn’t want to but had no choice.
Our walk brought us near the railway line,
A hole in the fence and when I looked up she was standing on
the tracks watching a train coming nearer,
I thought she had jumped clear, on the far side, but had to wait till<
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the long cargo train had passed. She was still breathing
I lifted her head up and spoke softly!
Then when I could see the sky and myself in her eyes I knew she was dead.
Laid her on her carpet in the back of the car,
hoping she was in shock and would wake up soon.
Drove to the beach where we used to go swimming in summers,
all the while I kept talking but didn’t turn my head.
I knew she was dead but didn’t want to know.
Finally I drove upland to were she was born,
borrowed a spade and went looking for a burial spot.
The ground was heavy, full of stones and I had no
Strength, beside it was getting dark.
By a dirt road two leaning boulders formed a small cave,
put her in a bin liner and sealed the cave with stones.
As I was driving off it struck me that if she really was
in deep trauma and awoke in a plastic bag
she wouldn’t be able to breathe.
Reopen and put her little head outside the bag,
got her carpet and wrapped it over her,
so that she wouldn’t be cold,
sealed the cave but not firmly and for days
when I heard a dog’s bark outside my flat I went to have a look!
Yes, I knew she was dead, I just didn’t want to believe it.