I found this poem I’d written 10 or 12 years ago and thought I’d share it. I don’t think it needs any explanation.
Our Simba blanket only comes out in times of joy or grief It signals the beginning and the end of a dog's life so brief We bought it for Milli's whelping box liner It's been a bed, a place to poop, and a doggy food diner Bode and Daisy and Simba played, they rolled and chewed and tugged Simba stayed strong and whole throughout, no matter where it was lugged I think we paid $5 for it, probably at Walmart It is thick and soft and colorful, a sign of a brand new start The puppies, at first, looked like little rats But with Simba's comfort grew into brats We kept them both, just couldn't let go They were Sailor and Milli's "accident," you know Now, I sit with my memories, and watch Sailor die Stretched out on Simba, his final lie Like others before him: Milli, Bode and Bart Rolled up in Simba, the dog and my heart Will make a visit to the vet for good And will come back as ashes in a box of wood He's breathing roughly, all nasty and wet But he'll die at home, no need for the vet That damned doggie cancer, it haunts us again But his eyes still follow me, and is that a grin? Soon we'll see the last rise and fall Of that powerful chest, and that will be all And we'll touch him and pet him and cry out loud As gently we fold him in Simba's shroud