Duke and Toby

You would think that the dog was "Duke" and my dad was "Toby"--ahh but there you would be mistaken. I have a best friend of 55 years whose grandparents were named: Nini and Potsy and Nanny Anny and Poopon. Since I was little my father has sworn that when he was a grandfather he would not become a Potsy or Poopon! Such is one of the less obvious fears of aging! So, when my first daughter was born, he declared himself "Duke". He wanted to be Cap'n but none of us could say it with a natural jauntiness so he acquiesced and became Duke. I revere my father, beyond measure. To me he is swashbuckling, debonaire, a brilliant man with a kind heart, generous spirit and quick wit. And my admiration and adoration has not diminished a whit though with increasing frequency, he can't find hearing aids or his keys :) He is a splendid person, sentimental and incredibly incredible. (can you tell that words fail?).

The sad news is that my father has his home up for sale and needed to give Toby to his cousin (my dad’s cousin not Toby’s) and dad misses Toby very much.

On the bright side, though, he still has me. And I come when I’m called, dutifully fetch, let myself in and out, pay my own medical bills, feed myself, walk myself and hardly ever bark after 10. I don’t have fleas, I give myself a bath~I am the perfect pet! I should put myself up for adoption!

So...
I present ~Duke and Toby~

Toby knows

Eyes follow me.
I know they’re there.
I felt them earlier - a sorrowful stare
That follows me seemingly everywhere.

I used to react and acknowledge the glare
And try to convey “I’m not leaving now”
But nothing can alter that baleful stare
Of large brown eyes with a furrowed brow.

So I quit trying.

And now when I move to pick up my keys
And feel the soft pressure nuzzling my knees
I know it’s important to employ my new rule:

No eye contact.

If somehow I slip and our eyes meet full on
I know that he knows I’ll soon be gone
So he’ll climb to his room overlooking the drive
To watch – and sleep - and watch some more
Hoping I’m just on a trip to the store.

But Fridays are bad, he’s seen them before
When I shoulder my clubs and make for the door
After setting out water and food and more -
He knows!
A long, long, boring, boring day is in store.

So I rush my shots to shorten the game
And soon lose interest - it’s not the same.

Hit ball, drag guilt; hit ball, drag guilt.

My mind makes lists of things we’ll do
To brighten his world and give him joy
Of running around at the off-leash park
And not coming home until after dark
With no-one who cares about sand everywhere
And gone – long gone – is that baleful stare!

Until next time.
Duke, 8/4/11