Rosie

It’s 15 years since we buried Homer

And adopted you, Rosie.

We’ve both moved on.

My aging is not all that subtle

But you, my baby, are very old.

Hearings gone, legs unstable

And your lost focus sobers me.

All your buddies have died,

There are no pregame attack postures

Or recognition barks.

You had the best double shift and run moves

And I recall six dogs in chase, utterly confused.

We taught you few commands

And curb crossings required no approval.

Today we will hold you for the last time

Then retain your ashes until ours are mixed

And waved into a welcoming sea.