How she relished rolling around in the snow!
Wild, her brown, mottled fur flew,
Entangled with delicate white flakes.
On a gloomy wintry morning,
When the house was cozy and warm,
To please her master, she would venture
In the frigid darkness, to retrieve the “Sun”.
She thought she was a deer: fences she jumped.
Her friend’s face she licked and nuzzled,
As loving as a new born kitten.
Her name was Champ. Champ, the.
Victor, our younger son, was her master and friend.
Soon after Vic went to college, Champ got sick.
Ugly, deformed lumps appeared under her skin.
The vet incised them, but, like dragons,
They kept on rearing their ugly heads.
The doc kept on cutting, cutting away,
Until he reached the muscle one day.
The dog was in pain. What were we to do?
“Let’s put her to sleep”, the vet suggested.
The appointment was for Monday.
We called Vic, Champ’s master and friend.
He begged us to have her for the week-end,
“Just to say good-bye” he whispered.
Monday, Victor and Champ were nowhere to be found.
Vic informed us he was keeping the hound.
Champ died in Victor’s arms, suffering;
But comforted in his tender embrace,
Caring and loving.
He buried her in the woods near campus.
Occasionally, he went to the grave, to say “Hi”
To his beautiful, trusted and trusting friend.
What is more humane? To let live or let die?