Old Friends

Yesterday Riley went to the Dog Shop

where they brushed his hair for half an hour.

This morning he wanders the still green yard,

as if he carries a frost of snow on his back.

When climbing into the car, he needs a lift

where he used to leap right up to the seat.

Yesterday Jean called to say that Peter had died.

Peter and Riley enjoyed each other.

Peter would feed him bits of cheese.
This is the last one, then one more.

Neither Riley nor I complained.
This morning I am fed by this memory.