I lay resting around midnight listening to piano jazz and then

The night air carried me back to the Dog of My Childhood Days

When, as children, while rain fell on Smith Street,

We played in puddles that pooled in the gutters in the cool afternoon.

On Smith Street by oak trees, whose large roots pushed

The sidewalk into uneven squares of cement

Lining our front yard, and our black dog,

Tess, a Labrador/Doberman mix, watched,

Ready to save any one of us if we fell into trouble.

We children grew up raking leaves into autumn piles,

Taking turns to run and jump into the rustle of dying leaves.

Packing hard winter snowballs to wage war between

The white, frozen walls we hid behind,

And playing red light/green light

With neighbor kids on those summer nights

Until one day I came home from school

And dad reported that Tess died of a cancerous tumor

Just moments before dad prepared to put her to sleep

At the vet lab where he worked.

The Epilogue to my Black Dog

We recall that spirit as if the dog had a soul

That will lick us when we die and enter

The next realm ready to brush that black coat

Until it shines in heaven, until we understand

How much a watchdog formed our lives.

Tess, who came alive to hear our voices

When we came home from school,

When we brought out the evening dinner scraps,

When we shared our daily burdens with her

On the front porch steps where we

Wondered what growing up would be like.

The black dog knew who we were and how we felt

Not needing any words; her broad tongue licking our hands,

Her soft eyes raised to ponder ours.

It was enough to make us human again

For a while at least.

            -- C. S. Cholas, February 24, 1999