You sigh, as it gets dark,
from that area on your bed.
Pretending to sleep,
but I state your name
and that tail wags.
We like our long walks. Du spelar.
You push past the others to catch your ball.
You climb the rocks at the beach.
Muscles strong. Senses alert.
You introduce yourself to the sea.
You likewise limp home, sometimes.
On hikes, you accident up mountains.
You grab branches in your mouth.
You do not lose track of me.
But I see you steady yourself
before jumping into the car.
My graying, aging dog.
Inte gammal. Inte ung.
We jog. You set the speed (always have).
But now I’m the one slowing for you.
Det är ok. You did the exact same for me.
You’re such a great dog, Ace.
We don’t play much fetch. It makes you sore.
We race. You let me win.
We joke around a lot, don’t we? great deals of tricks.
We go camping. We sing duets.
We go to coffee shops. You lie at my feet.
Big, brown eyes watching.
Every day, five or six times, I kiss that low area between your eyes.
Rub your soft ears.
See the gray fur on your legs, your feet, tip of that tail.
To my aging dog.
Inte gammal. Inte ung.
You’re such a great boy.
You look up at me. Those brown eyes staring.
You have huge plans.
“What should we do today?”
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