Strider

From springy rambunctious puppy to aching bag of bones; from chewed-up sandals to worn-down teeth; from champion in the ring to deaf old man—a staunch companion sworn to secrecy and free of judgment, with steady paws on shoulders and a ready tongue to kiss away any tear.

The pack is thinned now, deprived of a kind of timeless wisdom it’s our turn to pass along. But where can I go for comfort? In whose ruddy silence can I find my solace? Who will be my wagging guide through the rest of my days?

This overwhelming sorrow at your passing will be all too brief, tempered and overshadowed by 16 years of canine glory, erstwhile charms outliving any choking misery I feel at the aching loss of warm fur...and yet my fingers write blindly, through a blur.

In my mind’s eye, you’re still striding, strolling, trotting through thickets, pausing only to nuzzle some knot of underbrush before bounding back across the path in pursuit of the next olfactory moment.

In my mind’s eye, you’re still racing toward the sound of a trumpet, joining in in howling solidarity, an echo of lupine wildness; in solemn preservation of the world.

In my mind’s eye, you’re still leaping through my early morning torpor, unfazed by adolescent somnolence; my all-too-eager alarm clock.

The cycles of nature brook no sentimentality, and time waits for no man—but what I wouldn’t give to bury my face in your fur just one more time, to hear the thump of your tail, to smell that dog breath, to feel your forehead pressing on mine.

I’ve said my periodic insincere goodbyes, each time sure I’d see you again. I’ve rubbed my thumbs along your floppy ears, believing with a child’s certainty you’d be around forever. I’ve enjoyed your company without reservation, still fully taking our friendship for granted. I’ve lingered in thought and wondered: how much longer and to whither will your withered withers wander? And it seems even now the answer eludes me, as it has and always will.

RIP Strider 5/22/11