Peripheral joy

Peripheral happy, joy out the corner of my eye
a humble affection accompanied my days
whether in peace, anxiety or fear
he was always there, a sideline of content
by my side, always, a childlike always
a golden blur on a grey day
a wet leather nose flaring joyously
at a multitude of delicious doggy smells
the thump of his tail when I looked at him
and smiled, even so briefly
the warm spot left behind on the kitchen tiles
when I shooed him out.

The ancients had their words for love, grand agape
Eros, storge (with a hard g), filial love and friendship
the tender affection, furry love, unconditional
of no less value, still love, and in your absence, still missed.
The love of a dog, a golden Labrador with soppy eyes
fringed with red/ gold lashes and a gentle mouth
you could only call velvety, golden moss
carrying a raw egg, unbroken, or delivering
a tiny field mouse into my hand, drenched in his saliva
shivering in shock; after being rescued from cat play.

I still see him out the corner of my eye, when I drive
In the left hand mirror, his head out the window
the loose skin around his eyes and muzzle rippling
in the back draft, sniffing the breeze, like a gourmand.
I still see him in my peripheral vision, walking the beach
me, melancholy or not, collecting stones and driftwood
his whole body radiates with pleasure, an ecstatic gallop
a curious trot, a race into the surf and a satisfying roll
in the coarse sand. What more could you ask for?
Every so often he races back to check in with me
jumping his gratitude, pushing his wet nose into my hand
grinning his joy in sharing this glorious day with me.

My daily companion, walking with me every day
sitting at my feet or waiting for me to shower or toilet
tripping over him, complaining about his shedding
his doggy smell. His modest needs left me free
with my thoughts, yet not alone
his comfortable, comforting presence like old slippers
undress, and worn favourites.
Every day he greeted me, close to human tears
when I came home, at last, at the end of the day.

In memoriam “ROLY” died in the Bellingen floods, February 17, 2009.
Copyright 2009 Elizabeth Routledge