Your mug sits on your face like an old mug sits on an antique wooden shelf. 

We squish your forehead. There are no eyes to be seen.

Just wrinkles and squiggles, all lines on your face. 

Later, all eyes on you.

Like a mannequin, so still with a scarf and a summer headband, too.

A fashionista, you strut down the runway.

Your fur is as blonde as the sand you ran in when you were a puppy.

Then, a rustle, a tussle, you lumber away where food is to be given.

It's dinner time.

Oh dear, it's chicken!

You bark. You snort. What do I do?

Picking the bad parts off my plate, I sneak them down to you.

You sniff my sweet basil hand. I feel your gums on my fingers.

Chewing. Swallowing. You want more.

I try to sneak pieces, but the jig's up. I must eat my chicken.

Still not appeased, you keep barking.

"Dear Emma, I can't give you any more."

But, I remember now. You can't hear anymore.

Every morning and every night, I give you a huge bear hug. You snort.

So sweet, so grumpy, so tolerant, so full of love.

You wait for us to carry you downstairs.

Your eyes can't see, but you still watch shows with me on our grand beige couch.

You still go outside and lay in the sun with me.

Smelling is how you see now. Your smelly world. You smell and you see me and you.

You sleep all day and dream.

Dream of running in open pastures of grass and green and all the people who see you.

Loud snores to quiet snores. Long snores to short snores. A great melody.

Tough, a little bit grumpy, but always as sweet as the yummiest candy.

Ready for hugs and little short cuddles when I feel down.

But, one day, you were not the same.

Tired as tired could be. Sick and wouldn't eat. Couldn't move.

I was gone for part of the day.

You went to the vet and took medicine.

You fell asleep, forever sleep.

I cried and cried. No eyes were dry.