She Loved My Poetry, I Think…

(Note: this first appeared in April 7, 24 and was republished, here, following a correction revision)

Not my poetry, in the sense that I wrote them. No, they belonged to real poets: Clemente Clarke Moore, Ernest Thayer, Robert W. Service, Hugh Antoine D’Arcy, Grantland Rice and Abraham Lincoln. I just memorized and recited them to her.

But she didn’t know, or care, who wrote the words. I think she just enjoyed the rhythmic sound that accompanied our steady pace. She never sighed or balked when I began each line, or repeated sections until I had it right.

The Night Before Christmas may have been her favorite. I’d recite it over and over and over until I couldn’t change the inflection points and it got boring, probably for both of us.

Spring came along and with it the start of a new baseball season. What could be more appropriate to memorize than Casey At The Bat. I did, a little bit a time as we walked along, side by side.

It was the All-Star game before I had it down verbatim and recited it ad nauseum. By the ‘dog days of Summer’, it was wearing thin on both of us. I sensed her boredom.

Following a short break, I picked up memorizing again and locked down Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address before the November 19th anniversary of the President’s iconic speech.

Lincoln, himself, may have delivered the speech in a quiet manner but each dramatic line found me delivering it with gusto. Neighbors probably thought it odd to see me talking and gesturing theatrically, only stopping to pee or sniff.

Memorizing poetry gave this Senior’s brain some very good exercise, I’m uncertain what it gave her, but she didn’t complain. Dogs are like that, they give you all the attention you want and don’t ask for much in return, just your love.

Over time, I managed to conquer The Cremation of Sam McGee, Alumnus Football and The Face On The Barroom Floor. She approved them all.

I still walk daily but since Daisy passed away this February, I’ve stopped with the poetry. Music accompanies me, now, on the same paths where we walked and talked. She’s deeply missed.

The Last Battle is a poem about a pet’s message to its guardian in its final days. The message is clear. The following is the opening stanza and the author is unknown but I like to think that our pets wrote it…

If it should be that I grow frail and weak
And pain should keep me from my sleep,
Then will you do what must be done,
For this — the last battle — can’t be won.
You will be sad I understand,
But don’t let grief then stay your hand,
For on this day, more than the rest,
Your love and friendship must stand the test.

Daisy 2013-2024

Steve, 040724

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To pet lovers, everywhere.

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srbottch

Retired in 2013 after 5 years as an elementary school teacher and 40 years as a sales representative to begin anew as a school crossing guard. SMy essays/stories are a way to communicate through the telling of personal experiences. One reader said about my blog stories, "...these are like a cold sip during a marathon run, simple, real life events". Another offered about my blog, “it brings some sense of normalcy not easily found in the modern world.”

25 thoughts on “She Loved My Poetry, I Think…”

  2. The poem brought tears to my eyes since for us to do the right thing we need to say goodbye to a loved one. I don’t think there is a deeper heartbreak than that. Lovely post Steve. I think you should continue to recite your poems. You never know who may hear them.

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    1. Exactly, John. You know, too well, the feeling. That poem sums it up perfectly. It took awhile to come up with a nice story line for Daisy. I think this was a good way to write it. Thanks for your sincere comments, John.

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  3. Steve!!! You didn’t give readers a ’tissue alert’. My goodness, what heart and soul you have written. Poetry is powerful, and it takes brain work to memorize it (good for us seniors). I can see you in the delivery, and I bet you had those poetic moments at your Classroom Corner, too. Bless Daisy, and bless you.

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    1. Thanks, Jennie. Actually, I did get theatrical with the kids when I got them to sing ‘Oh, What A Beautiful Morning’ on occasion. Daisy was a special ‘gift’ that came to us as an adult from a ‘kill center’ in Missouri. Staying with her as she was ‘put down’ was traumatic. Writing about her, as I did with two prior dogs, helps release some of the pent up emotion. It’s a tribute to her. Thanks for your comment, Jennie.

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      1. And what a terrific tribute to Daisy! Writing does wonderful things. Singing does, too (I wish I’d been there when you sang “Oh, What a Beautiful Morning.” Then again, I would have jumped right in and probably ruined the moment 🙂.) So does poetry. The best part is, you have all three nailed! Best to you, Steve, and thanks again for this wonderful post.

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  5. Steve,
    Thank you for sharing your seasonal poetry ritual. I am sorry to hear about Daisy she was a great walking companion. If you want to borrow Brewster for a walk let me know. I am so sorry for your loss! Casey at the bat!

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    1. Thanks, Maggie snd Jim. We know how you enjoyed seeing her, especially when she and Molly got together Steve Molly’s corner. They were like two old friends who had known each other for years.

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  7. What a beautiful post, Steve!

    I lost my Sidda a few years back. I never recited poetry to her, but I often sang to her, even as she closed her eyes for the last time. It was comforting to me to be able to be with her, and I prayed it was a comfort to her as well. A few weeks later, I was on a walk, solo, on a path Sidda and I frequented. A lady and her dog were jogging and approached from behind. The lady passed me, but the dog stayed, walking beside me for a few minutes. Several times it made eye contact, as if trying to communicate. Eventually, it hurried along to catch its owner. I’m not sure what was going on, but I have always felt it was a message from Sidda, from beyond. I spoke a few words to the dog while it was still with me, a message for Sidda, just in case.

    Thanks for sharing and for creating a space for the rest of us to share. I have become a full-time caregiver for my mother and scarcely have time for leisure reading or writing anymore. I’m so glad I was able to take time today. Such food for the spirit!

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    1. I’m glad you hdd as opened across the story. I think it might be very true, that she spoke to you through that other dog. I enjoyed your anecdote. All my best (Steve)

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    1. Thank you, Meg. They sure do become part of the family. She was beautiful. The poem is very poignant. I don’t know who wrote it but it was posted in the vet’s office and it’s beautiful.

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