For Finbar

For I will consider our dog Finn.

For I loved him and am still bereft.

For he was kind and never hurt one soul.

For he had a golden coat, a pure, soft, honeyed caramel.

For his nutbrown eyes were deep and wise.

For he read my thoughts.

For I read his mind.

For he understood my words.

For he had such powers to wrap himself around me.

For he was a healer of the sick, a friend and guardian of our home.

For he would howl if ever I would weep.

For he held a mirror to my soul and shared my pain.

For he was brave and thought he was a man.

For he was cunning, like a gypsy’s dog.

For he was full of joys and jokes and loved to dance.

For he loved to run and race and play in snow.

For he loved to eat and lived for food.

For he would watch and wait for my return and know when I was close.

For he was kind to young ones: kitten, pup or child.

For the cat and he were friends, cwched up before the fire, they washed each other’s coats.

For he was tolerant to a tiny fault.

For he treated my son as a brother.

For he considered himself one of us, a human.

For he suffered stoically at the end and was so brave.

For he is buried by the riverbank.

For his grave is marked by heavy stones of white.

For I still greet him as I pass and always wipe a tear.

For he loved me

For I loved him.

For he still waits for us.

Cait O’Connor