Her Touch
February 20, 2009
He lays his old, gray muzzle on the soft blanket and sighs.
This is a good place, he thinks.
I have good food, clean water and a soft bed.
And then he feels her touch, soft and gentle on his head.
Thrown away because he was old, he’d almost lost his life in a shelter.
No one wanted the “sick old dog with no hair.”
She had driven through two states to rescue him.
Too afraid to sit in her lap, he was comforted by her touch all the way home.
He only sees shadows now; his hearing reduced to muffles.
He sometimes gets lost in this new place,
Wandering around the large fuzzy shapes in search of her.
For she will tenderly pick him up and kiss away his fears.
She holds him gently because of his old bones,
And whispers loving words in ears that can’t quite hear.
But he feels the kindness and compassion soothe his heart.
He sighs again and lays his head on her shoulder.
His bad dreams don’t come as often any more.
He only has to lift his head to see her dark shape
Bending over his bed at night to arrange the blankets
And softly stroke his head while he drifts back to sleep.
Yes, he thinks, this is a very good place to spend my last days.
I belong here with her for she loves me just as I am.
Her love and kindness and tenderness will sustain me
Until the soft touch of God takes me home.
By C Tumlin
