To Love a Dog is to Grow in Love

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Jernee Timid Loadholt in a Poncho. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt


A Tribute Poem

We are both aging
bones creaking, sight deteriorating
finding ourselves slower
than we once were.

I look at the brown globes
for eyes looking back at me
and remember how I felt
the first day I lifted her
to my face, nose full of puppy scent,
she saved me.
 
I crawled outside of myself
and into her heart — 
we’ve managed to keep
each other alive for nearly
thirteen years and as much as
I’d like it to be,
another thirteen will not occur.

My safe harbor, my boss
*my wife, my everything that’s perfect
and whole . . . 
sadness breaks away from
the edges of my spirit
when she lends me kisses
and I feel freer.

I let those professionals within
my organization shoot my
body up with the first dose
of their cure-all and could barely
use my left arm for three days
she knew . . . she understood . . .
she did not expect more from me.

We’re “takin’ it to the streets”
now that the sun’s decided to
shake a leg with us
and the pep in her step
gives false hope for
a decade more of her love.

I am taking what I can get,
I’d be a fool to let go of
this love, even when she’s gone,
she’ll still be here with me.

I have grown in love
because of her and
because of her, I’ll
give this love to
someone, anyone else
who may need it.

*My mom calls Jernee my “wife” at times. She typically says it like so, “You better get on back home before your wife gets mad at you.”

Originally published in The Junction via Medium.

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