Honoring You, Sweet Trubble

I receive a text from my ex, saying our family dog, Trubble, is suffering, so Joe will take him to the vet to release him from his body.

Declining the invitation to see him again, I realize I’d like to hold onto the vigor and light I saw in Trubble a few months ago.

The day goes by, and I’m unable to concentrate on anything.

I text Joe again with a changed heart…I’d like to see Trubble.

Joe invites me to meet at McDonald’s, where he’s going to buy our beagle a cheeseburger.

Trubble and I enjoy a few, sweet moments of sharing love.

Images flash through in my sleep, of all the joy and love that dear soul brought into our family.

Thank you, Trubble!

Thank you for your irrepressible spirit.

Thank you for getting me outside.

Thank you for the exercise.

Thank you for the kisses.

Thank you for the joy.

I’m grateful you were in our lives.

Dear Reader, bless you and your relationships with animals, with nature, and with one another.

May you journey deeper into connecting, always.

 

Enjoy these poems I wrote years ago after walks with Trubble in our Ohio neighborhood.

 

Sensing Nests and Other Things

 

Wednesday

 

Trubble, our irrepressible Beagle,

leads me to the skating and fishing shed.

Before we arrive, birds fly out in a stream

of unidentifiable wing as they sense hounding.

 

Beagleboy proceeds to sniff as if

he’ll never be able to sniff again.

I imagine I’ll need to pluck feathers

from his sinus cavity, perform CPR.

 

He’s intrigued by each quill and covert,

scent of nest, exploring every hint

of avian aura by standing on two paws,

stretching to birdland crannies in the eaves.

 

Thursday

 

We return to the shed of immense scents

where Trubble repeats his intense sniff-fest.

 

I decide to try his technique with sight—

spy sunlight on a spider web through knotty pine,

cigarette butts stamped into the plank floor,

the top to a worm container tossed in a corner;

 

watch, as my husband wriggles the hook

from a slippery fish

while our sneakered sons giggle and wince

over a dozen Septembers ago.

 

Joy Resor

September 2004

 

Trubble’s Top Walk Tips

 

Goose poop on the street isn’t gross—

it’s just chewed up grass and rather tasty.

 

Slowing to tastesmell discarded cans, chip bags,

hamburger wrappers makes a walk rock.

 

Trot threw wet grass barefoot,

linger in the shade.

 

Drops of water licked from tall grass

work the same as water in a dish.

 

Lick your paws when you get home,

look out the window one last time,

 

sprawl for a nap on the carpet.

 

Joy Resor

August 2004