The Day We Buried Grif

We buried our beloved dog, Griffin, Sunday, July 10, and I wrote this poem in his honor for my blog post today.

The Day We Buried Grif
by Zoe Weil

We buried our dog this morning
In heavy clay soil.
He was light on the earth
a tiny three-legged boy
still so soft,
though no longer fierce.

We remembered him aloud,
sharing stories,
His love affair with our big three-legged shepherd;
our son’s biggest scar
when he tried to prevent him from biting friends
who’d stopped by and were chased back
to their car
by pugilistic Grif.

He likes that scar.
He loved that dog.
Whom he’d rescued at two and a half
Saying in no uncertain terms to his reluctant parents,
“We HAVE to adopt him,”
and we did.

Fifteen plus years together;
our son’s whole childhood,
the photos in the albums like proof,
one after another:
Griffin in his arms;
Griffin and he floating on a raft;
Griffin in his lap;
Griffin on his bed.
Always with Griffin,
the dog he saved.

Grif is in the earth beside Sophie, next to Maia,
flanked by Uba, Buddha, Pere, and Mish,
marking the inexorable passage of time,
marking years of love,
of joyous puppy and kittenhood,
and the solid decade each of companionship and devotion,
and then arthritis and kidney failure and decline
and their inevitable deaths.

Meanwhile, three others wait in the house,
banished from this burial.
Elsie, two;
Ruby, eight;
Sir Simon, thirteen.
The cycle continues.
Loving them a bit more tenderly today;
The day we buried Grif.
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