July may be the cruelest month for the dog. His left rear leg collapsed while he was trying to climb the stairs to the second floor -- merely to be with me. I was not certain he was going to be able to stand.
When we take our walk, he totters -- like a card table walking down the pavement -- with two dodgy legs.
And then he insists on climbing on the brick decoration that skirts the creek. The photograph flattens the drop off on the creek side. It is at least a ten foot drop -- and I know I could not catch him if he tripped over his gamy rear leg.
But I let him do it every day. Part of the reason is that he is old and he takes pleasure in being able to walk on a ledge that would give me trouble. The second reason is that there is little I can do to prevent his antics. He is the most willful dog I have ever owned. And he would dispute the assertion in the second half of that sentence: I do not own him.
As I walk along with him, I hear Patti LuPone singing "Look, Mummy, No Hands." The tune is a poignant memory of a girl growing up and watching her own child be careless. "Look, mummy, no hands/ I called as I passed her/ faster and faster/"Hold tight my darling, "she cried out in fear/ But I laughed and pretended that I could not hear ."
And I gave a bittersweet smile.
Billy Collins catches the flavor, but with a quite different net. His "The Revenant" is a poem in the voice of a dog who has been put to sleep, but returns with a message for his master: "I never liked you -- not one bit." One stanza should give you the flavor:
When we take our walk, he totters -- like a card table walking down the pavement -- with two dodgy legs.
And then he insists on climbing on the brick decoration that skirts the creek. The photograph flattens the drop off on the creek side. It is at least a ten foot drop -- and I know I could not catch him if he tripped over his gamy rear leg.
But I let him do it every day. Part of the reason is that he is old and he takes pleasure in being able to walk on a ledge that would give me trouble. The second reason is that there is little I can do to prevent his antics. He is the most willful dog I have ever owned. And he would dispute the assertion in the second half of that sentence: I do not own him.
As I walk along with him, I hear Patti LuPone singing "Look, Mummy, No Hands." The tune is a poignant memory of a girl growing up and watching her own child be careless. "Look, mummy, no hands/ I called as I passed her/ faster and faster/"Hold tight my darling, "she cried out in fear/ But I laughed and pretended that I could not hear ."
And I gave a bittersweet smile.
Billy Collins catches the flavor, but with a quite different net. His "The Revenant" is a poem in the voice of a dog who has been put to sleep, but returns with a message for his master: "I never liked you -- not one bit." One stanza should give you the flavor:
I admit the sight of the leash
would excite me
but only because it meant I was about
to smell things you had never touched.
I was going to save this poem for the day I put Jiggs down. I knew that I would react badly, and I thought this would be as good as any anchor. I am convinced that Billie Collins is a poetic master of turning what could be mawkish sentimentality into wisdom. So, dear readers, we most likely will share this poem again.
But not today. Because the carousel just goes faster and faster. And Jiggs has taught me that life is about shouting out: "Look. No hands."
Even if he does not like me -- not one bit.
[You can read "The Revenant" here.]
