When I Grow Old With My Dogs
When I grow old with my dogs,
I shall wear turquoise and soft gray sweatshirts
and a bandanna over my silver hair,
and I shall spend my retirement checks on
sweet wine and my dogs.
I will sit in my house on my well-worn chair
and listen to my dogs breathing.
I will sneak out in the middle of a warm summer night
and take my dogs for a run, if my old bones will allow.
And when people come to call,
I will smile and nod as I show them my dogs,
and talk of them and about them,
The ones so beloved of the past,
The ones so beloved of today.
I still will work hard cleaning after them
and mopping and feeding them and
whispering their names in a soft, loving way.
I will wear the gleaming sweat on my throat like a jewel,
and I will be an embarrassment to all -- and my family.
Some people have not yet found the peace
in being free to have dogs as your best friends . . .
These friends who always wait, at any hour, for your footfall
and eagerly jump to their feet out of a sound sleep
to greet you as if you were a god
with their warms eyes full of adoring love and hope
that you will stay and
hug their big strong necks and
kiss their dear sweet heads and
whisper to their very special company.
I look in the mirror
and see I am getting old.
This is the kind of woman I am
and have always been.
Loving dogs is easy—
They are part of me, accept me for who I am.
My dogs appreciate my presence in their lives.
When I am old, this will be important to me.
You will understand when you are old,
if you have dogs to love, too.
This was sent to me by my Uncle Mark about four years ago. He was a dog person, too. :) I don't know the poet/author's name, and the version above is paraphrased a little bit for length.