We started off as strangers,
you and I.
And I’ll always wonder -
if there had been others
would I have picked you?
Your brothers were already gone
by the time I got there
so I paid for you,
and I didn’t realize
until you licked me in the car
how long I’d gone without you,
and how much my corner of this brutal world
needed you.
It was the first time I saw my soul
in something else’s eyes.
So we went home
and we built a life.

You weren’t like other dogs.
I didn’t have to put you on a leash
for our walks.
I just explained trust once
and you never left my side.
The times I went to work
and said, “I’ll be right back,”
you’d watch me from the window,
and no matter how late the shift ended
I never walked back into the house
without your big drooling smile
waiting for me behind the door.

It wasn’t always so good, though.
You moved in with my wife and I
during the bad times.
And when the screams turned to fists
I’d watch your ears tuck back
as you ran off to hide.
Little whines would float in from another room,
like a child who thought it was their fault,
and I’d spend those nights reminding you
that we’d been best friends in another life,
and that no matter what,
when it came to us,
everything would always be all right.

And it was all right.
I threw tennis balls for you in fields so green
you looked like a deer
lunging through the weeds.
You swam with me in oceans
and walked long hikes,
and even when I forgot a tennis ball
somehow they would appear.
I think that’s why I thought you would live forever.
Something always seemed to be
looking out for you.

That’s why I made my biggest mistake.
I left you home while I moved on.
I thought I could get a job and
buy you a house with a big backyard.
I went up to Maine
even though I saw you growing old.
But I thought love was stronger than time.
I thought I could cheat the Universe.
I didn’t know
I was rolling loaded dice.
Why else would there be a place like Maine?
It was made for good dogs
who never run away.

My parents could hear how much I missed you
so they brought you up for a visit.
And as we crossed the bridge
in that oyster town
your heart gave out.
You fell to the street
and I caught you in my arms.
I pet your soft fur
and pressed my mouth against yours.
And I almost went blind
trying to blow out every ounce of air
I had in my lungs.

I held your body in the backseat
while my dad drove us down to New Jersey.
It was too late to dig a grave
when we got home
so I slept with you outside
on the lawn.
And when morning came
the birds didn’t sing
and the coffee wasn’t strong,
and my dad and I took turns
digging up the earth
before we gave you to the ground.
Our hands went up to our heads
and we saluted you like a soldier,
like a best friend,
like something that had brought more happiness
into our lives
than anything before you ever did,
or anything after you
ever could.

But fear has replaced sadness.
You were too good of a dog.
I wonder all the time about where you are now.
Are you another dog?
I saw one that looked like you in the park
and followed it home.
What if you were picked up by someone
with no tennis balls?
What if they didn’t have a couch
for you to sleep on?

And so I pray now
and I hope
that there is a God.
And I hope he’s got a couch
for all good dogs.
I’d empty my bank account
for another minute with Satine.
I’d trade years of my life
if I could just tell her “It’s okay.”
And if I could go back again
I’d take all those hours
I wasted
working for nothing
and learn the ancient bagpipe psalms,
so I could send my friend off like
the hero she was.
Another one
death took
way before their time.
Another one
I still salute
on late nights
under bar lights.

And if you’re there God,
please never get annoyed.
Please throw her tennis balls
and tell her she’s a good dog.
And when you’re watching a movie
please drop extra popcorn.
Please let her sleep in your bed at night.
And if there’s thunder in Heaven
please scratch her ears and tell her,
“It’ll be all right.”