Andrew Of Stainleith (Poetry)

(His pedigree name)

He was old and his
heart was giving out
we didn’t want to
see him suffer so
my father took him

It was wintertime
cold, dark and rainy
my mother and I
reminisced about
when he’d been a pup

Nine years old and an
only child, he’d been
brother, confidant
ever-true throughout
a shared growing-up

While we talked the rain
lashed at our back door
making the wood swell
warping the frame so
when Father came back

the door shrieked open
letting in the wet
but not our dog. Then
for the first time I
saw my father cry