We deemed the spry wheaten terrier, Griffin, January 1st 2012.
I ran him back and forth in the yard in the snow and he pranced like a reindeer
The remnants of the yuletide, cranberries strung across the mantle, the canine’s stubby tail was the greatest gift my childhood ever touched.
Fresh from a breeder and unspoiled by the cruelty of the human race, we were kids together, griffin and I.
Like clockwork every afternoon I came home in my French Terry plaid dress and unbuckled my Mary Janes and slipped into my chucks to bring the pooch round the neighborhood, my knees were skinned and his leash was beat red.
I have times tables to do over the kitchen table, but we can go one more block.
We still have time.
I still have all the time in the world.
The cracks in the sidewalk deepen as do the gashes in my legs,
Womanhood looms like a pendulum, something my scruffy nipper couldn’t possibly understand
it was a relief.
We go through chew toys and different brands of kibble, I change school districts.
I stroke his hypo allergenic locks with my feet under the table, times tables become calculus.
The loyal imbecile lays at my feet just the same, his hair collects my tears unlike any Kleenex I’ve ever known.
Griffin is eight years old and he chews through the tassel on my cap and gown.
I raise my arm like my father and I’ve never regretted anything more.
fear in an innocent creature’s eyes stings like lemon juice in a paper cut
A paper cut I from my graduation certificate.
Griffin is particularly entranced, sniffing my samsonite luggage set, a graduation gift from my aunt and uncle.
I ask myself, can my dog register my very first longterm departure?
Days pass in dorms, I envy passerbies walking their dogs in the park.
That was me once, in the second grade.
My first thanksgiving break, his hairs have gone from golden brown to gray and the crust in his eyes start to block his black optics.
He walks into walls and salivates over nothing.
I imagine him burned into tiny grains of sand in some sort of jar or ornament.
A distant anecdote-
Of chewed up undergarments and beaten harnesses
Every break home I await a solitary collar like a tombstone
I resent the fact that Griffin’s passing will slice me like a shiv, deeper than the death of my grandmother
I see him through the light of a video screen
He moves through the hallways somewhat like a ghost
The death of my dog will be the death of my juvenescence
How do you explain time to your dog,
His lifespan passes like a bullet train
The death of my dog feeds into the purchase of my first apartment like a river into an ocean.
How do I explain time to my dog?
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