THE GRAVEDIGGER'’S LAMENT

Saturday, April 8, 2006

Yellow and purple crocuses

are heralding new life

and the pond is free of ice,

but will the lately frozen mother earth

yet consent to being opened for a grave?

Sadly I must fetch my shovel to ask,

for the patient, for the moment still here,

is weakening, wanting no food.

Her father was said to be show champion of Canada!

Her mother? Who knows?

A little white Poodle,

she came from New Hampshire

where they rejected her as not measuring up!

Despite that, it’s never been for her

to hold back or excuse herself because

“"I'’m not good enough”."

We couldn’t help but laugh

at her first encounter with stairs,

her first months having been confined

with others of her kind, to a kennel

where she learned it is easy to be easy going

with others, no matter how big or how small.

We named her after a princess:

Princess Diana.

Her dark nose and sensitive dark eyes

distinctively contrast with hair curly white.

Like most of her sex, with

curls washed, fluffed up for show,

she brightens and smiles at the words:

“"Pretty Girl”!"

Her dignity never restrained her

when wanting anything at all

from excitedly jumping up and down,

not on you mind you, but

two to three times as tall

as herself.

Sometimes she simply sat,

vigorously waving extended forepaws

up and down, up and down,

over and over ...

until the day not long ago

heart trouble began

to drain her energy away.

It is of course Diana'’s doggy nature to love

to tear round and round

in playful zig zags with any like her,

and when I walk through the woods

to run round and round me, ears flapping,

little white bob along pom pom tail

flagging her whereabouts,

stopping at every smell to satisfy her curiosity

and mark her territory ... conclusively.

Now eleven only, prematurely restricted

by failing heart and unseeing eyes,

hesitantly yet happily,

head high as her tail

she tags along at my heels,

trusting solely in gentle guidance

from voice and leash

to avoid bumping her nose

“

straight into that rock in the middle of the trail.
"This way, Diana, this way.

This way, Diana, this way.”"

Now as if yesterday,

walking with friends with their little dog Barnie

feistily frolicking about her,

I see Diana gamely tripping along,

reminding us to enjoy life in the moment.

Today she declined my invitation

to come along at all.

Until now

Diana'’s love of learning new things,

like showing off how she can

“"sit," " “fetch,"” "“roll over”,"

rates as insatiable.

Would that I, now it’s too late,

gave more attention to teach our little Poodle

and catch her enthusiasm

for new accomplishment.

Even now,

would that I might learn

from her unselfconscious lack

of the fear and self-judgment

she might have taken on,

being so judged

as not measuring up.

Would that I might learn

from her example

to exercise more fully

my own freedom to be true

to my own inner nature.

With each shovelful of dirt, though,

aging arthritic fingers hurting as I dig,

these lessons pale in importance

to knowing that soon to Diana I must say:

“"Blind princess, you with your little bob along pom pom

rate tops among my life'’s unending blessings.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you."

I see how your illness and your mortality

reflect my fear about my own,

Soon Diana I must let you go ...

and move on.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Sunday, April 9

Four in the morning

Diana wants out.

First time ever,

after a brief while

no scratch at the door.

I notice frost on car windshields

and anxiously, big flashlight in hand,

search nearby woods, the neighborhood

... all possible dark hiding places ...

two hours, coat over bathrobe,

and all over again after sunup.

On her own from our yard

never did she stray.

She was nearly too weak to walk.

What happened to her?

I am ready for her to leave us,

but not for the torture

of not knowing.

Hope all but lost

late in the day I dial the shelter,

to be flooded with unbelieving relief

at the words "“Yes I have her”."

On next seeing her

my little Diana pays me no attention,

her way of reproach, I know:

“"You were supposed

to let me go.”"

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Wednesday, April 12

Diana'’s gone now ...

with just a little help today...

dying peacefully.

She was more than ready ...

her purpose fulfilled.