December he died
my dog of twelve summers,
Huddy, a sweet dog,
with gold and red colors.

of Ithaca,
Cambridge, and Somerville,
blood all beclouded,
laid down and quivered.

Sandy who loved him
walked him and stroked him,
Sandy she nursed him
with hot home-made dinners.

Drug-dosed and weary,
he died one morning.
No cries, no complaints
--example for millions.

In a circle of white birch,
we buried black ashes,
of a gold dog,
and his red collar.

Buried at Thoreau's pond
in New England autumn

September 16, 1978

All written material © Bill Schechter, 2016
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