Thursday, August 4, 2016

Ol' Bo


The other night I looked at this blog and found that not only had I not written a post this year, I only wrote one in 2015, and have only written eleven in the past three years. Woeful. Of course, I'm not a writer. I write well, I'm told, but I've never professed to be a writer.

Having said that, I read through the blog and found this post about our dog Bo, who has been gone since 2007. That got my to thinking, and writing, and here's the poem that appeared. I call it, "Ol’ Bo". I hope you enjoy it.

Ol' Bo

Were I writing in the 1800’s I’d call him "Ol’ Bo"
And everyone who read this poem would know
That he was part of me, as I was of he
Because we gave him his name (my wife and me)

Preachers will say (those who know their stuff)
That your life is changed when God says, "Enough!"
"A different name shall I give thee!"; and it is done
But "Ol’ Bo", bless his heart, didn’t come here with one

He came as a pup, just a tiny little mutt
He was hairy and black from his nose to his butt
And prob’ly lost enough hair to make ten more, too
If we could gather and shape it like the good Lord would do

He wasn’t really a "dog’s dog", not really, no
He didn’t play fetch, though he’d romp in the snow
And come in all covered, his fur packed in ice
And we’d towel him off dry, while he stood there so nice

When we moved to our house he came with us, of course
Two cats and a dog – lots less work than a horse –
While we went to sign papers it was Bo on the floor
With grandpa and Tim napping just by the door

So we moved our stuff in and Bo watched our kids grow
Getting bigger and smarter with each year, you know
And we went for walks, and we played in the yard
While Bo was around life was tough, but not hard

My son Tim will attest to this; the other kids, too
That Bo was a dog who was loved through and through
He was played with, and fawned over, at times got a treat
And was petted and cuddled by the kids on our street

But we all do grow older with each passing day
We noticed that Bo’s hair was showing some gray
Then he couldn’t quite stand at his bowl while he ate
And he whimpered at night, sometimes . . .
So we knew his fate.

I guess we all surely know this to be true
There are just some things you don’t want to do
But to know that your friend is so deeply in pain
There’s a term for it, isn’t there: to be humane

We’d been in our house for fifteen years or so
When we drove to the vet in the car with "Ol’ Bo"
And said our good-byes, and hugged him and cried
Then the doc did what we asked and Bo quietly died

So it is that our God who we pray hears our prayer
Granted peace to our friend Bo, who waits with Him there
It may be our dear Lord gave him a new name
But I’m sure I will know him, "Ol’ Bo", just the same

And we’ll play and we’ll romp, we’ll be family again
I’ll be happy to see my black, furry old friend
So when it’s my time, and I’m smiling, you’ll know
That I’m near to the presence of God, and "Ol’ Bo"