Some of you might know Blue—our 11 year old dog with endless energy and cold blue eyes. He’s been a faithful running companion, watch dog, and playmate for our family since he was born. Like me, he’s not getting any younger.
His black coat is showing some gray around his muzzle and, though he’s still faster and more agile than any dog I know, he likes to spend most of the day curled up in his spot on the landing of our stairs.
This is a poem about Blue and about the human experience that Shakespeare described so well when he wrote: “love that well which thou must leave ere long.”
Blue Patina Blue waited this morning at the base of the stairs for a hand on his head as I go down creaking in the dark predawn for coffee. Both our joints are stiff and sometimes clumsy from overuse, or if I’m honest: what do you say, Blue— overuse and age? But he’s out from his bed on the landing simply standing for a hand on his soft and graying head. His back, like a bannister my hand often runs, shines black with the leaned-on luster of wooden things that will last for a long, long time. And he will not. But agonize and sentimentalize— I’ll none of them. I’d rather just run with him.