Rez Dog by Kelly Hamilton

You were found under a Juniper tree.

A scared little puppy

who had survived all alone

for six months

in the high desert of Northern Arizona.

That’s how Kenny knew.

Why he thought of your name

the minute he saw you

before he even knew this fact.

You died the first week of May

in a year that hadn’t been going very well to begin with.

You waited for me to get home

from my trip across the sea

before you let go.

You needed your mama to be there

to hold you.

Because after more than ten years

of living together
you had come to know me

as your mama,

though it took a while

to earn your love.

I remember how you tried to

shove yourself between us

on my first date with Kenny.

He didn’t even have a couch,

but you found a way to fit

on that papasan chair.

When we left your homeland

for our eastern destination,

you started showing

signs of age.

After all, you are the dog

who sat in the back

of the moving truck

all day

while we loaded

Kenny’s condo up

to move in together

those many years ago.

Moving across the country

had taken its toll.

My grief sometimes catches me

by surprise. I think of you

at random times.

I’ll see your picture hanging

on Kenny’s office wall

or hear the jingle of a dog collar

and remember that you’re gone.

That I miss you.

And I do miss you all the time.

It’s not fair to say

“I miss you every day”

because I’ve gotten used to your absence.

When you passed, it was the end of an era.

Something more than our family pet

was lost.

You represented an important phase of life.

You were part of Flagstaff.

Part of Kenny.

Of me

becoming who I always knew I would be

but never wanted to believe

I could become

in case I didn’t.

You could always be trusted.

That time we walked up to Buffalo Park

I didn’t put you on the leash.

You trotted just ahead

always our scout on any trail.

We came upon that herd of elk.

My heart began to pump

and I felt the familiar icy adrenaline rush

that came with the possibility

of dog action.

Would you run after them?

Would I lose you?

Would you get hurt?

But no. Typical Juni,

you froze in your tracks

the minute you perceived their presence,

a football field away,

through the vanilla sweet Ponderosa.

One look at those scary elk

and you turned around

and trotted back

toward home.

You didn’t bolt away quickly,

skittish and scared.

No, this was a more calculated fear.

You knew that those elk could take you down.

Run you over.

So you weighed your options

and decided that you weren’t going to take your chances

with pushing ahead.

You simply ran home.

I trotted behind you

all the way.

Still in awe

of this beautiful life

we were living.

But then again

you could also run

with utter joy;

Scampering and scooting,

racing fast

around Hart Prairie

with your ears flattened

against the sides of your head,

tongue lolling out of your mouth.

Cutting the corners

just a little too close.

I knew when we met

that you were a special pup.

I knew

I would miss you.

And I do.