She's lying on an old gray rug beside the kitchen table
Head gently resting on her paws,
Eyes watching me by the kitchen door.

"No tail wag this morning?"
I ask, and move to kneel beside my Callie,
Lay a gentle hand on her curly brow,
A pat for my old friend,
Who lifts her head and sets her quiet jaw upon my arm.

Standard poodles seldom sit for long,
But Callie's been here all night now for near a month...
Stays motionless, except her eyes and lifted head.
This morning my old friend attempts to rise...
She shakes a little and I see the sadness in her eyes.

A thousand times we've left together,
Headed to the barn in any weather;
She's ridden shotgun on the pickup seat,
And shared the ride and anything I had to eat.

The suture's long and tight along the leg.
The tumor's gone, but cancer has a way
Of reappearing in another place
In old dogs and old men tiring in their race
Against the gods of time and space.

"I'll be back soon, old girl," I say
And rise to start the choring day,
And Callie, good girl that she is,
Attempts to follow to the door,
Until my wife arrives to lead her
Back to her warm spot beside the table.

Mortality and love are on my mind
As the bitter January wind hits hard.
The cows are bawling at the barn,
And I have tanks of ice to break,
And buckets full of feed to haul...
Must be the dust that hurts me after all these years,
Or else I can't account for all these tears.