Unconditional Love

Dazed from a day of drudgery I climbed the stairs to our second floor condo, the metal of each step mistaking my leaden feet for prospective lovers and kissing them deeply, tugging at them to hold them close. At the top of the stairs by his door on our shared balcony sat my neighbor, ordinarily a taciturn man, a hardened newsman. one whose nearly seventy years had made him privy to it all, the good the bad the ugly. Now here seated perched precariously on a small stool in the falling night, while each appearing star seemed to plummet from the heavens to earth, he gulped the moist, heavy air almost as desperately as he gulped from the whisky bottle in his hand. He raised his head toward me and his watery eyes told all before he uttered the words, My dog died and I’m getting drunk. Sally Sue was an old dog, part poodle, I think, and host to every infirmity known to man or beast— blindness, deafness, diabetes, heart disease, a touch of arthritis. My neighbors knew this when they took her into their home to serve as a canine hospice, but she held on for many years, burrowing her way into their hearts as dogs are wont to do, each positive word from the vet, a celebration, each negative report, a heartbreak, and now the final inevitable loss. But inevitability didn’t dull the pain, nor worn-out words of consolation, only Jack Daniels could try, so I left Richard there, he and his grief, their fingers tightly squeezing each other’s throats. It is not for me to know how long this battle lasted, but morning came and she was still gone, but to remain forever in his heart, canine love reflected back from its human friend. (Note: Not long after this, Richard and his wife adopted another sick dog.)

Bluejay

Veteran of old My Poetry Forum before its hiatus. Happy to be back.

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