I've been looking out for this poem since Andrea's contest and I'm glad to see you finally posting it.
I love how you give him a pet name 'Orange Boy' although, I know it's not his real name...made him almost human like. Actually you talk throughout the verse as if he is human and...that's what I loved so much when I first read this poem. I talk to my dog all the time after all, he is a family member.
It is sad to loose a much loved pet and although the sadness is plain to see, you don't dwell on it, rather you celebrate his life and your times together with your words.
Just a lovely little poem Jane...really enjoyed it.
Andrea encouraged me to post it. I'm glad I did. My mom used to call Milo "orange boy," and since he's been gone, sometimes I hear myself say "my little orange boy" or "orange baby" between sobs.
2 years ago
by Ben Pickard
The description throughout this piece is wonderful. I particularly like the line: "Russets, dirt, dust and roasting barley".
The alliteration in that is wonderful; obviously between 'dirt' and 'dust' but the more subtle 'russets' and 'roasting'. They bookend the more obvious alliteration and it works wonderfully.
I know I am going on about that line, but I read it over and over again. It just rolls of the tongue beautifully.
As Hellon points out, the personification of the animal in question is prevalent throughout and makes the poem extremely personal.
Well written and all the best,
I've read this quite a few times and every time it just gives me this sinking feeling. It's hard to lose our little furry babies. Makes one wonder if something could have been done different to prevent anything from happening. At least, personally for me... I always wonder things like this.
Anyway, truly heart breaking write. Thank you for sharing with us.
Yes, I replay everything that happened leading up to Milo's death every day in my head. My boyfriend and I were driving 4 hours back to our home in Tahoe and I made the call to leave our cats (Milo & Rudy) in Piedmont with my parents. We were coming back in 4-5 days anyway and Milo gets sick in the car (throwing up & diarrhea). The cats love my parents' house because they get to go in and out as they please. It was my call to leave them. I hugged Milo goodbye in the front yard and kissed him all over his body. I told him, "You be safe, I love you, you're the love of my life," and then I got in the car and we drove away. I watched him hop on his older brother's back to play as we turned the corner. I felt like nothing could go wrong. That's the last time I saw him or talked to him. The next night, he wandered too far from our house and was hit by a car and killed. He was not even 2.5 years old. My dad didn't call to tell me that night. He waited until the morning, and when the phone rang, I knew. It's like someone whispered in my ear that what my dad was calling about would cause the world around me to come crashing to the ground. I said to my boyfriend, "Something isn't right. It's the cats." I picked up the phone and said, "Dad," and he said, "Jane," and I asked him, "Are my cats ok?" He said, "No, Jane, there is no easy way to say this. Milo was hit by a car." I asked, "Is he dead?" He said, "Yes." We cried on the phone together for awhile. I could hear my mom crying in the background. My boyfriend cried too and we held each other.
For the next few days, I tried bargaining with God to let me die instead. I loved and love that cat so damn much. We drove back the day of the call and buried him in the garden. I kissed his tiny, lifeless body before we laid him in the ground. It was the hardest thing I've ever done.
I made the call to leave them. My boyfriend said we should take them because I cry when I miss Milo, but I said no. I thought it was the right call. Better for him, I thought. That'll haunt me forever. I wish I could hug Milo again and tell him how sorry I am. It was my job to protect him and I failed. It was the most important job. Losing him feels like someone ripped out my heart. I blame myself.
So much guilt and regret. My poor Rudy has been struggling too. Sometimes he's inconsolable. He loved his baby brother with all of his big kitty heart. I just keep telling him I'm sorry.
EDIT: That's probably waaaaaay more than you were hoping to receive as a response from me. I got lost in my thoughts there and couldn't stop typing.
I don't blame you at all. Reading that actually made me cry. The hardest part is definitely the guilt, for me. I had two small dogs escape my backyard (both incidents several years apart). One was stolen, or at least I feel like she was because every single one of the fliers I put up were all taken down except for the plastic covers I stapled them in. Years later I'd still look around the streets whenever we drove by the neighborhood just hoping I'd see her. The other one, unfortunately was attacked by a much bigger dog. Someone found her in their yard and called us. She was so tiny, though, her back legs and her hips had been shattered and she never made it out of the shock. But still they escaped the same way, some tiny unseen hole through a fence. I always think I should have checked on them 5 minutes sooner and they'd still be here, or I should have stayed outside with them like I usually did.
My brother's pit bull loved both of them, too. He was depressed on both of those occasions. It was the saddest thing.
I could tell you that it wasn't your fault, but I know how hard it is to get over it. No pet could never be replaced, but it does get a little better with time. <3