Ode to Lulu

Lulu is gone and the house
is turgid with silence.
There are no sounds of her
snoring, farting, licking herself.
Things I never knew I’d miss.

The arc of her life was half complete
when we met; my life became
complete with her for company.
Now I’m completely miserable
without the clack of her nails on the floor.

In her last days she stumbled and fell again and again,
hardly a shadow of the playful dancer
and predatory athlete that she had been.
But she struggled back to her feet time after time.
She was such a brave girl–all heart, y’know?

Now her bedding is washed and folded,
her food and water bowls clean and dried,
the open can of wet food discarded with the compost.
But what can I do with her collar, the hairbrush,
the bin full of kibble, the rawhides?

Perhaps in time I’ll find another love,
but who will measure up
after such a friend, companion, partner?
Her last turd is still in the yard.
Maybe I’ll have it bronzed.