Our Dog Sam

Sam was fourteen when he left us,

 Rheumaticky and going blind.

Two winters before, with pneumonia,                                                                                            He‘d lain shiv‘ring in blankets by the fire,                                                                                      Two hot water bottles, capsule three hourly.                                                                                     I think he'd quite enjoyed the fuss.

Yet would we have nursed him so carefully                                                                                       If we‘d known the future? If we‘d seen how                                                                                 (Ears twitching though eyes vainly seeking us)                                                                          Illness took his zest and turned him old.       

He no longer rushed to sniff each caller;                                                                                                Left such duties to Ivan and Ginger;                                                                                              Only, with his aides, inspected the garden                                                                                 Thrice daily, like an old general.

Mostly Sam was content to sit and dream                                                                                        Of the days of his prime when, his ears pricked,                                                                                Sharp nose quiv'ring, brown fur thick and shining,                                                                        Tail upstanding like a flag, he ran free.

He wooed every entrancing bitch in town,                                                                              Battling bravely his larger, fiercer rivals,                                                                                          Yet was gentle with puppies and kittens,                                                                                    Loved by the children he guarded.

To our shame we had thought him a mongrel,                                                                            Until a Dutch friend said "He's a Kaashund.                                                                                 Dogs like him guard barges on Dutch Canals." 

Then proud we were, though proud before, of Sam.                                                               Maybe one day we‘ll go to find                                                                                                     Again in Holland our pal Sam.