Just Another Pet
She was just another pet
for fourteen years.
We let her have the lickings.
She served as our canine dishwasher, a job she loved
and we loved to see her take an interest in her work.
During dinner, she waited in the next room,
studying our shadows in silence, tail at half wag,
thumping to full rhythm when I stopped by her hallway bed
to pet and hug, to let her sniff my ear and cheek.
When the family rose from the table, she listened
for the clink of a plate against the floor
and clambered from her cushion.
It was as good as calling her name.
Summoning her brown, smooth body to work,
no longer hunting or herding,
just watching the family, drumming her tail,
helping us clear plates
- she wiggled herself all over
as she sniffed and started to clean.
Now I stand at the sink
and every plate I pick up, I turn and look,
searching for her.
Her bed is not empty. We have other pets.
Today, her favorite cat rests there, alone.
But I remember her.
And I put down the plate to think.
I have adjusted
except when I remember her job.
I sigh and rinse the dishes
and turn to pick up a bowl, unwashed,
and think of her again.
-- Eric Gallagher
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