Snowy

The dog I had growing up.

‘What kind of dog would you get?’

‘I need to learn to take care of myself, first.’

I always say it. It’s in my patented answer arsenal.

I glide down a winking boulevard, and

am flash-blinded for a second.

 

I recall how we used to glide

on sheets of day old snow that bra-pad the earth.

An airy donut sled for comfort,

linked by rope. You sprint, you

boundless bloodthirsty maniac, you panting fool with your

manic pleasing instinct.

It was never clear who you were

trying to please.

I’m not supposed to dwell on you, am I?

I mean our time was gold and every precious stone,

but your life always was supposed to end when I was still

a toothless baby, and I’m supposed to light up when

I mention you and tell funny stories and wax nostalgic,

but that’s it. It’s in a picture frame,

in a gust of wind. A doggy-doppelganger.

I’m supposed to have teeth,

supposed to chew with them, but-

 

-the flash of how I

used to stick my hand into your food bowl and you’d

eat around my fingers. Of your ghostly blip across the

Elysian strips of desert flanked by glassy bay, drawing

farther down the shoreline, like

runaway radar. Your slippery puppy tango on the

cherry floor, after barbeque.

Sitting on my lap in the way

back of the Land Rover and scrambling to the front,

concentration pulsing through your beaded eye and littering

down your drippy nose. Your

breathless, shifty guilt. Haphazard sprints in jagged circles,

the sheepskin ‘Mommy Ball’ that I'd throw you and

your taunting bursts of growls when I’d try to steal it back.

The stolen seven o-clock daylight when the charcoal crumbles

off the grill and you’re on the patio

chewing the ball, wind rising,

and I'm certain you escaped to

the days at the breeder’s as the runt,

before I even knew you.

 

You almost got pulled apart, once.

Then I never saw you.

I had to make that choice, and

I made it like a man, like the

man I’m supposed to be now.

And each month dragged on,

and I stopped remembering to

think of you, but when I came by you

were still panting with that cheerful glint,

still bemused when I’d bonk your

garnet nose with the ball, still a

model of patience when I’d break out the roast beef.

Your polar bear coat was a hand-me-down

now, but I barely noticed. And when

Dad called to tell me to come over,

I jumped in my car, and that must have

been the first time in three years

I did something he told me to do

without thinking. You were

wheezing like a snagged jigsaw.

You still had that grin though, and it makes

me wonder if it ever really

was one.  You forced it, maybe,

forced it for us.

 

I peel off the skin from the

beef and start to feed you. Dad barks

at me to leave it on. 

‘But why, I’m

just taking off the fat!’

Dad softens and shakes his head.

‘He’s a dog! He doesn’t care!’

I stay with you and rub your belly.

Dad loads you into the sandy Range Rover.

Half of the metallic green trunk is up.

I wrap your neck and tell you how I

love you. How you’ve been the

greatest boy. I kiss your salty muzzle.

Back away. Dad won’t leave. It’s

my turn first. I know this and I have to

cut myself, twist

out connection,

jump out of

comfort, rip out of

skin.

I start my engine and this vision kicks in,

a buoy streaming up and up,

swelling, bursting, gliding

higher, higher and

blackness is

blazer is

navy, to

sapphire to

sky to

turquoise to

walls on a

baby’s room to

bubbles, and then

release.

There’s nothing I can do to stop it,

and I’m left to drive and dry myself off.

I don’t imagine I’ll ever learn how to

do that thing.

Author's Note

I'm a bit liberal with tenses in this, shifting from looking in a memory to living it.

Reviews

[Alexis]

wow do you have a way with words this is amazing but sad I'm so sorry for your loss

[Demii]

This is really sad and thoughtful and I love how there
is story along with the poem, its really sweet, and you
must of loved your dog alot, and I'm sorry for your loss!
This was a great Poem.

[Himanshu shekhar]

Just perfect ,can't describe.NICE PoEm.

[Death Girl]

A really amazing poem. I loved it and I like how you went back and forth with it being a memory and then living it. Every creative nice job on this

[jacob erin-cilberto]

we grow up and away, leave the home and the dog we grew up with...and wonder if he will know us when we return, wonder if he will be bitter because we left...but we can't take him from the home he is used to...we make that decision...be a man about it...and later...drive and our dry ourselves off...the tears...

this makes me sad...like Old Shep by Elvis...

but best friends stay best friends, and dogs remember, and love unconditionally..

a prosy poem, and it works for me in the form it is in...

i was caught up in the emotion of this.

jacob

[Katherine]

I can relate to your poem a lot:(:) very descriptive and detailed amazing poem:)

[NAyersman]

Overall,I like the theme of the story told through this poem. I've had to deal with the deaths of numerous pets, both my own and those of others, so I can really relate to this.
I felt like some of the line breaks were strangely placed, but then again I also don't tend to read much free verse poetry, so grain of salt.
Some of your descriptive word choices struck me as odd, like 'bra-pad the earth' and 'beaded eye'. Beaded eye, I'm pretty sure should have been beady eye, since beaded would imply that the eye was covered in something bead-like. For instance, water droplets or cancerous nodules.
I also have no idea what 'blackness is blazer' was meant to be. I understood in that sequence that colors were changing, and getting lighter, but blazer isn't a color.

[Thaddius]

you can intuit the hue of the blazer by the words around it. My subconscious wanted to say it, maybe because of an assembly I went to and wore one at around that time, who knows. Bra-pad might be out of place, it occurred to me. I didn't mean to sexualize it. But I love the idea of the snow as padding to mothers earths... you know. It flashed out of me onto the screen, so I left it in. Thanks for reading.

[NAyersman]

So you're saying you suddenly thought about a blazer that has a color somewhere between black and navy blue? In context, there isn't enough to infer that that's what you're talking about. It's just a confusing transition of color is sweater is color to color to color to color.

[Thaddius]

I'm saying a blazer to me is a bluish color, and the reader can infer that, appreciate the word 'blazer', or even dislike it. it's your prerogative. I write for me

[Thaddius]

worrying about what other people think is why so much writing is formula and bland. and why mine isn't

[AYVID N]

Loved the flashes and the way you use them to create a picture of everyday life with a beloved pet. Memories woven together piece by piece and left to the reader to fathom the extent of the writer's affection and attachment for Snowy and why he was so unforgettable. The 'buoy' and the final 'release' complete the picture of the pet's life with you. The entire theme works very well and touches the reader's core. It hit deep chords within me. Thanks for posting...

[Will Neill]

Thaddius, Thank you for asking me to read your 'Poem'- you might wonder why I highlighted the word.
Well, while your poem is very good I think it's trying very hard to be a very short story. And I believe it would have been better if you had choosen that format. Poems do get read more here( maybe thats what you were thinking?) Take the leap of faith and try some prose. Youre mostly there with your good imagery and flow of words. A good piece that could be developed more.
Take Care.
Will

[Thaddius]

thank you. if you have the chance, I'd really appreciate to hear what you consider to not quite be 'there'. It's interesting to me what works for some and doesn't work for others. Especially since poetry and prose have very different constraints on 'development'. Poetry needs far less, a lot is implication and allusion. I agree with you that if this were a short story, it would need more development. It isn't though: it's a style of poetry that I write which is a flood of memories that paint an emotional picture. It's the greatest hits moments of a short story, if you will. I do write prose, but I wanted something a bit more appetizing for this site. My prose is so poetic and metered, oftentimes, and my poetry can also get long. I'm like the actor who doesn't decide what genre his movie is in... a 'Christopher Walken' (not my idea). I'd like to know what you think about this 'poem' needs developing, since that is what I decided to make it. Also, there are branches and tangents in this, yes, and I believe that lots of those shouldn't be resolved or expanded on. For a breathing tree, for a sunken iceberg, the branches need to be entwined, the berg needs to be mostly submerged. That's my style, and I believe a thematic hand can overwork material to the point of conscious-mind asphyxiation. I am playing with the power of the subconscious mind to tie the thematic ribbons with the words that keep popping up like chunks of ice. Thanks for reading, much appreciated

[Will Neill]

Choose whichever path you prefer, its your style.
Will

[Ifreakinloveyou]

This is pretty amazing; it reminds me of my favorite dog, so thank you for that :) You're really good with imagery, but you are also really good with all of the other senses. I love it.

[Thaddius]

Thank you for the kind words. I'm glad it makes you remember. Anytime I can remember one of my long lost friends I want to soak in it, to indulge. I'm the type of guy who cares about pets as much as people, with as much of me as I can.