Read by Rebecca McInroy
I remember
When I was two and I waddled around
and you ran me over and knocked me down
And you slept in my room and devoured all my Legos
and you threw up
my room looked like the day after a Mardi Gras parade
I remember
When we would play catch in the back yard
And you in the bed of the old truck,
with your hair streaming in the wind
on the way to grandpa’s
on that special Valentine’s Day when I got a lollypop
I remember the stories:
Your eating my mom’s expensive red boots
twice
Your eating the rope that we tied you up with outside of the store
And all the upholstery in the truck when you were little
When our other dog taught you how to bury bones in the garden
I remember
When it got hot in the summer
and we bought you a kiddy pool at a garage sale to lay in
And my not understanding why you would chew your legs
and make them bleed and have to wrap them up with tape
And we let you out of the gate in the back yard and into the soft, shady ivy
because you could not walk,
your back legs could not support you
I remember
The last time you stood up
You tried to follow us out like always
And you fell
You looked at me with shame in your eyes
I had to look away.