Of an Ancient Spaniel in Her Fifteenth Year

SHE was never a dog that had much sense,
Too excitable, too intense,
But she had the cocker’s gift of charm.
She never knew what to do with a bone,
But shielded all her life from harm
She cost me several years of my own.

Sweet old pooch! These final years
She rubs white chaps and floating ears
In summersweet suburban loam;
Digs, she thinks, a final home:
Scoops every day fresh graves to lie,
Humble and contented, knowing
Where, any day now, she’ll be going —
And so do I.

I said, buying with Christmas care,
Her collar and tag for ‘49:
This is the last she’ll ever wear
(And the same is true of mine).
Equal mercy, and equal dark
Await us both, eternally,
But I was always ready to bark
And so was she.