By Nicholas Barnes
i.
moose is having a seizure again. poor dog. grab a bag of white sugar and a spoon. try to feed him sweetness to extract, to sieve away the bitter pain. undo his collar. console his stiff, tender neck and tight, cramping muscles. saliva pools, dripping from stygian lips onto shiny linoleum. concern, panic, fear, sorrow—in those big puppydog eyes—glistening with saline. wait for the fit to stop. give fragile reassurance. proffer hugs and kisses. pet the bridge of his snout.
hold him as he swims through the peril.
ii.
moose:
was a fighter, undefeated—he went the distance.
caught mice, and hid them to avoid confiscation.
took credit for our cat’s plume-covered prey.
slept at the foot of my bed, keeping winter toes warm.
patiently entertained my dizzy six-string fumblings.
was the color of dark tourmaline and chocolate.
a true pal when i didn’t have any others.
my first friend, really, second to my brother.
would shun sticks and bones for a pack of grimmway farms.
picked the red bits out of his purina dinner.
ran rowdy laps around the house after a bath, little nails
click click clicking.
lasted about eleven years.
iii.
moose,
i miss you with all my heart.
i hope i can be with you someday, the dynamic duo once more.
i knew you from when i was a toddler until sophomore year.
i remember the day i met you, when you came from the pound,
when you were so small.
i don’t know where you went, where you are, but
i’m glad you’re no longer suffering from your robbing condition.
iv.
moose, to this day, i see your face in every passing pooch on the street.
i still have your dog tag, if ever you decide to come back.
Nicholas Barnes earned a Bachelor of Arts in English at Southern Oregon University. He is currently working as an editor in Portland, and enjoys music, museums, movie theaters, and rain. His least favorite season is summer. His favorite soda is RC Cola. You can follow him on Twitter @ColesWordsPoet
