When dogs decide to leave

their territory on this side of the fence,

there are no affairs to get in order

no jewelry to dole out

or words from the countless people

who would have wanted to hold their paws by the bed.

It turns out,

they’ve been giving the estate away for years.

 

There is a quiet room

where the vet tech strokes their distended tummies after hours

and each breath our beloved guardians take,

brings with it the anticipation of undiscovered places

as if they were re-launching from puppyhood.

 

There is beeping

and a phone call

and a decision to make

and the hope that more money

more tests, more sleep

will give them one more day

one more week,

one more month of restful peace

in that special bed by the fireplace

surrounded by soothing voices and permissive parenting .

 

And for a long time after the decision wasn’t yours,

you miss them jumping on the bed or the couch;

you wish they would still follow you around the house

and nudge their wet noses into the palm of your hand.

 

Until that day comes

when you are brave enough to go for a jog without them,

down that old street lined with trees that was yours together;

 

only to see them there—

all of them

standing at the fence under the trees, waiting:

 

chasing their tails and biting at your heels

asking to race you to the end of the block and back,

leash-ends in their mouth, smiling;

 

a dutiful group of bouncing shadows

that will never just sometimes greet you at the fence.