For Sandy
Sandy a cattle-dog cross 'looks' at me with cataract infested
eyes of love as he blindly follows my scent.
Now 13 in human years, Death's Grim Reaper
stalks daily as he walks with ever increasing frailty.
Forever gone is his agility and grace of pace, his love of the hunt.
Patiently he waits.
In his last days, not for him abandonment
by callous owners who would desert him
at at this time when most vulnerable.
Instead the quick prick of a fine needle in his home environment
ends his life peacefully with dignity.
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