tears trickled below his dark sunglasses
my father’s eyes hidden
behind
the reflection of our shivering malamute
on the stainless steel table
I could see our hands:
my mother’s
my brother’s
mine
caressing Wolfe’s furry body
still warm
in this cold, antiseptic room.
We didn’t have shades like my father’s
to hide our sadness when we saw
his head drop
limp
hanging across my mother’s arm
My hand rubbing gently across his white fur
on his chest
then to his stomach
back to chest
He loved that.
(His chest would expand
every time.)
I didn’t want to stop
too soon
I didn’t want his last feelings
to be
me pulling away
my fingers
my warmth
my love
His fur never felt so soft in those twelve years.
His belly began to feel as cold as the table.
I lied to myself.
He still smelled like the scented shampoo
we used to give his last good bath.
He stopped shivering.
I lied to myself.
His breathe still had aroma of the t-bone steak
we gave him for his last meal.
He stopped whimpering.
I lied to myself.
I wanted to keep lying to myself
rubbing his belly
keeping it warm
He’s still here
