It was upsetting to see you lay around for days Drinking nothing Eating nothing And sleeping little But it was a lot worse when we found out why. You had a volleyball-sized tumor on your tummy And it ate you inside out. They got it removed, and you were fine. But suddenly Cancer struck again And you became riddled with tumors Like Swiss cheese. But I didn’t even know. I wasn’t there for you, to embrace you when you came to me After all those times. I came home one day And Dad brought me a box With a paw engraved on top. He said, “This is Jack now.” We both began to sniffle. “We had to put him down. His cancer came back.” Sniffle. “He shook my hand with his paw before we let him go. We took him to the beach with the other dogs the day before, and he was the only one who went in.” Sniffle. “He went in up to his chest. All by himself.” Sniffle. “No one lays on his bed anymore. The other animals will sniff it and walk away. They don’t know what to do without him.” I had to leave the room And muffle my sobs with a hand towel. I can’t ever scratch his ears again. The red-haired puppy that jumped into my lap and licked my face Is a ghost now. A memory. You were only six, Jack I hope you’re happy in doggy heaven With a peanut butter filled Kong chew toy.