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The big dog that was run down on the main road,
five months ago and thrown into the grass verge, is
still there, only now it looks like a dusty stole, flung
out of a passing Rolls Royce…I wonder if its owner,
if it had any, is still looking for it? When my Bambi
died I didn’t cry, not the first day, but on the second
day, when the pain of her absence became too much
to bear. She won our battles of will, but one, insisted
she had to have a bath fortnightly. We grew old and
grouchy together. And now she is a sweet memory.
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