At My Feet

 At My Feet                                            

   by Danny C. Wash

When he was but a puppy

stumbling and jumping around

he would follow me everywhere

in and around my feet almost tangling

into them but as he grew he simply

walked behind me no matter where,

as if a string connected us, that pulled 

him along the path to the bedroom, the

kitchen and yes, even the bathroom.

Always watching me, seeking approval,

a hand patting his head or back constantly

looking with the loyalty of a slave whose 

only thought was to please and be with me 

laying at my feet as if in worship and then 

as we grew older together he slowed some 

but would still struggle to climb up the stairs 

so that he could lay at my feet and sleep and 

then there was that night that he came close 

and lay down at my feet– 

for the last time.