The Divine Old Dog sees the leash,
come off the wall,
the jewel in her eye begins to dance,
even when
she can’t go, and in disbelief,
walks quietly back to her bed.
She still has the charm to win
our hearts.
In the late afternoon, when the sun
comes over the mountain, and the leash
comes off the wall,
“come along, Divine Old Dog,
come along,” we say,
and she does,
prancing still,
all is forgiven,
the world still right.
She goes on her walk,
the jewels in her eyes sparking
from the setting sun.
The Divine Old Dog has slowed,
the chipmunks tease her every day,
they edge closer and closer,
run nearer than they ever dared before,
the rabbits dig deeper into their holes,
the groundhogs arrogantly waddle,
just a few yards away,
the Divine Old Dog
is not as quick as before, she cannot dig far.
But old dogs do learn new tricks,
and pride never weakens with age.
She lies down by the gate,
and closes her eyes, she looks
tired, confused, lost in sleep and dreams
the chipmunk stops and stares,
listens to the old dog’s sighs and moans,
and darts for the gate.
The Divine Old Dog opens an eye,
shoots out her paw,
and invites the chipmunk to the Dance Of The Angels,
where so many rabbits, chipmunks, groundhogs,
skunks, racoons and mice,
dance every night in the Crystal Ballroom,
to the light of the stars,
and the music of the barn swallows.
They are all on
her guest list for the ages.
The Divine Old Dog speaks of sadness sometimes,
some of her old friends are sick,
the deer had the toughest winter,
the birds froze in their trees,
the Divine Old Dog down the road,
who barked with her every morning,
my best friend,
is gone, she says, she barks no more.
There is so much sadness in the world,
so many aching legs and sore feet,
so much death and sorrow,
isn’t it good to cry sometimes,
and just feel bad?
I am swimming in the River Of Life.
I pray to be humble, says the Divine Old Dog,
so that the world does not appear to be so stingy
with love and joy and good news,
I pray to be honest, strong, kind to those I love, pure,
so that life does not appear to be
a cruel old miser,
hoarding his shiny gold,
counting the money in his bank.
Never mind, says the Divine Old Dog,
life can be a joy, life can be a mess,
I had this dream, she confides,
that the Gods invited me to a party,
and everyone who came had an angel
for a partner, sitting on their shoulder, sharing the table,
and the Divine Old Dog knows the beautiful truth,
that there is no one on this earth,
no person,
no dog,
who is not invited to dance,
on their crystal dance floor,
a million stars twirling in the skies.
The Divine Old Dog’s Life Changes,
Day by day,
each morning,
she takes a walk along the road,
until her legs begin to drag,
and tremble,
she can no longer jump into the car,
or hop up onto the back seat,
or walk up a steep hill,
or make her way through the path
in the woods,
where she lived in the hope of a chipmunk,
to chase.
We do not tell the Divine Old Dog what she must do
for us,
any longer.
We listen to her,
and she
will tell us,
what we need to know.
The Divine Old dog will not be patronized,
for her incompleteness, for her age,
by people who would pity her,
and feel themselves superior.
The Divine Old Dog rushes to the door,
demands to go out in the snow,
rushes to the whole where she knows
the woodchuck is hiding,
waits for him to come out,
so she can pounce,
challenges the other dog to play,
though she cannot run and jump,
lies down in the snow,
though her legs tremble,
and her wood stove is inside,
just a few feet away.
The other dogs rush to the door,
running from the wind, and the storm,
The Divine Old Dog looks away from them,
in contempt,
the snow thickening on her dark coat,
she looks back at the woodchuck hole.
The Divine Old Dog will not be measured,
by man,
or circumstance.
or patronized.
