William H.A. Willbond MSM, CD

WESSIE

You got very ill and your back gave out before last winter’s rain.
I saw a strange look as you yelped to me, your eyes were showing pain.
Wesson, you and Smith came down here to the Dick Nimmo farm.
Protecting Dick’s property, you also kept our home free from harm.

Dick and Maxine moved away to Sooke you were left with Lynne and me.
You had a huge yard to run about in and you remained a farm dog, free.
But as you aged you came inside and you slept at our back door.
You started to shed and you started to itch and your back legs they got sore.

You were with us these last few years – the night you went I shed some tears.
I called Dick and then the Mobile Vet – who responded to my sad call.
He gave you a needle and you went to sleep beside your bone and your ball.
I dug your grave beside the fence before the winter rains in late fall.

A terrible itch appeared on my skin I peeled and got a three week rash.
It was a fungus that made me peel and it finally cleared up at last.
The grief of your going it made me break out – and I now see that lonely site.
Grand kids put flowers in your dog dish. Farewell old Wessie, good night!

©Copyright April 9, 2009 by William H.A. Willbond MSM, CD

Wessie

Author’s Note: Wessie was know by all and sundry. My mate, Jim Cody wrote the following poem in response to mine.

REQUIEM TO BILLY WILLBOND’S OLD SHEEP DOG

Wessie We knew him well, the back yard dog,
With eyes so kind, he stole your heart.
When we sat down to eat,
He scratched the door and said “Hello”
He seemed to say it is cookie time,
Hurry up, please be kind.

Billy, we got to know your doggie so well
When we stayed with you in Saanichton,
When the weather was kind and the sun was high,
In the blue, blue sky.
The blackberries were ripe on the garden vines,
And many a time Wessie and I shared a feast.

I knew that you were fond of the old sheep dog,
You thought of him, and fed him first,
So it is a sad, sad poem that I have read,
Our losses are many, and rewards are few,
But life must go on, we must bear the pain,
We must lift our head and face each day.

It is good to know by the garden wall he sleeps,
His spirit will live on in the heavens above,
And in the earth beneath,
You will feel his presence when you tend the flowers
When you feel a phantom lick on your hand,
You will know that he is around.

I’m sure poor old Wessie didn’t cause an itch on your hand;
That was due to trauma and grief after losing a friend.
You will see him again; he is waiting for you,
In the great blue yonder, where all things are renewed.
There is no such thing as permanent death;
The end is only the beginning for all creatures on earth.