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Don Yarber Don Yarber
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soul mates

My poor sick dog has only weeks to live.


I didn't want to believe him as I choked back the tears
my mind raced through memories, made throughout the years.
The little furry blonde puppy, we brought home so long ago
That simply stared at us with big brown eyes aglow.

No barks, no cries, no whimpers, just a love light in her eyes
It was weeks before she left the box and began to realize
That we would never hurt her no matter what she did
Like picking up my tools before she ran away and hid.

Like chewing up the welcome mat, training diapers too
and anything else she could find that she thought she could chew.
I remember teaching her, stay and sit, and then bring the mail
And to come home when we rang the bell, quickly without fail.

I remember how she'd catch a mole and play with it all day.
And run all the way around the house before it got away.
When blackberries ripened she faithfully  followed down the trail
While Shirley picked the ripest ones and put them in the pail.

How can I bear to tell Dear Shirley that her faithful friend is sick
How can I repeat the words "the end is coming quick."
As I sit here writing this, my heart is filled with sorrow,
What words can I say to ease her pain, when she returns tomorrow.

The doctor said that it could be a week or two or three
That he could give her medicine to keep her pain free.
But what about the pain that we will suffer from now on.
The pain that will live with us long after Blondie's gone?

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