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Tributes Bending a long-time prohibition in our writer’s guidelines, we want to read—and publish—your remembrances of beloved dogs past on TheBark.com.
Post your homage (or condolences) directly as a comment to a particular tribute below or send your story and photo directly to the webeditor@thebark.com. (Remember, brevity is the soul of wit.)
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by Laurie Goldman This morning with a heavy heart but enlightened soul I helped my beloved Zac pass on. He has been with me for 15.5 years. He was a scrawny, one ear flopped, anti-cruelty society find. I originally adopted him to keep Calvin company. He was a perfect companion, keeping up with him physically and accompanying him in escapades (such as the find of freshly delivered baguettes left at the door of the restaurant Feast). He blended into the background and was content. |
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by Denis Bernicky
lifted table high
the dog did not make a sound
shattered leg shaved
and then
the smooth needle slide |
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by Dan O'Connor
His name was Astro.
He had that name when I got him. The young, troubled, hippie girl, who had given him up, had labeled him with that cosmic name. It sure must have broken her heart to have to let him go. Her apartment management had strict rules about "No dogs allowed." So her mean old landlord was taking him in his pick up to the pound. That was when he ran across me in a gas station in Kealakekua, Hawaii. He said "Hey. Do you want a dog?'
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Carrie Friedman | 12/6/2016 He died a day ago. There is a sand-fire up North. White flakes of ash fall from the sky like snow. And yet, this is not what alarms me. I stare at our yard. For almost 12 years, Bowie would appear, from the brush, often with a fully blackened snout from digging in fresh fluffy soil, from fitting his favorite stuffed animals for their graves or burying bones that were just too good to be enjoyed all at once. |
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by Tim McHenry Fine, Evil, you win. Take this body. This 12 ½ year old shell of the dog I once was. Take it all. See what it gets you.
Take these eyes. In the end, they were blind to the world and useless to me. I will keep images of every face I have ever loved, ending with Tim holding me as I hopped toward the light and into another world. |
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Richard Krawiec | 10/27/2016 Arriving home at 4am with the ghost
weight of my dog gone flaccid in my arms
after I said Yes to the needle, ending twelve hours
of seizure, eleven years of companionship,
just as I had said Yes to the nurse who removed
the lone breathing tube keeping my mother alive,
I drank myself to sleep, dreamed my dog crossed
a meadow, smooth grassy stalks swaying lightly,
seed heads anointing the ridge line of her back.
In the sparkle of dawn, vague gray forms,
her pack, rustled the underbrush around her.
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by Kathleen Arenburg Poochie, my companion and best friend, came to me as a frisky, sweet and gentle eight years old dog. He had a mind of his own and found a way to let me know what he wanted, needed and when. Poochie would patiently wait by the couch for me to come and sit with him. Maybe he would get a belly rub if he were lucky. If it took too long for me to come, he would become vocal. We had our ways to communicate. The love ran deep between us and there was a bond not to be broken.
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by Emily Brown Slayer was attacked by two large dogs in a moments notice, and he didn’t make it. We buried him earlier this morning.
He was the first person to ever teach me about unconditional love. He would cry if we went in the bathroom and shut the door. He had to be with us no matter what. This dog would hug us. He would lean his two front paws on our shoulders, rub his face against ours, and genuinely embrace us. There’s no denying it for me - dogs are human. They can shut down just like humans do in the face of torture or become as sweet and loving as their owner. |
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