Nicky
My dog’s dead.
Nicky’s dead.
He died, actually.
We had to put him down on Friday.
The cancer was everywhere.
He didn’t really have a chance.
Chemo would have put him through so much.
We made the decision to put him down.
In a matter of hours after we knew, he was gone.
“He’s gone.”
Tear flow. Loneliness ensues.
I never thought I could hurt so much, over a dog.
I wait for him to come to me when I come home.
He’s being buried in Marlborough I think.
Where the fuck is Marlborough?
Our couch still smells like his pee.
I don’t want the yellow snow to melt yet.
The backyard still has his mark, everywhere.
He loved the snow.
He was in pain for a while, we just never knew.
I yelled at him when he woke me up last week.
“I’m sick! Let me be!”
Oh the irony.
I just want to hug him again.
It’s not real.
Nick can’t die.
He’s my dog.
It’s very real.
He was my dog.
He’s happy now.
Chilling with my grandfather,
Who I barely cried over.
But Nick, Nick I will cry for for a while.
Most don’t understand.
