So you're gone.
The whole joyful presence of yours.
Your bad manners. Your funny ears.
Your little tail you always used with big love.
Your habit of punching with your nose when you wanted attention.
Your mad running after my horse. You almost chased him under a train once, do you remember?
You chewed my horse's best bridle. You had a wee in my friend's house but we didn't say anything.
I taught you to crawl like a police dog.
And now you're gone.
The large mass of scraggy hair all over the house.
When I brought you home you were so small I couldn't find you in my bed in the morning.
You would sleep curled up next to my face with your little head pressed firmly on my neck. All the palm size of you. You liked sleeping.
You were possessive. Cheeky. Full of energy. Crazy dog. And you knew you could get away with murder.
If I knew I saw you for the last time I would have given you one more hug. I would have sat with you for a little longer. Stroke your warm head.
But that's not to be. Now, you're gone. Sleep well my friend.