Late last fall the older of our dogs had surgery to have her left eye removed. The problem seemed to start with a cataract, then became something far more serious. The eye became swollen and turned red. Eye drops were not enough. The only solution seemed to be to remove the offending orb. She is getting to be an old girl, gray around the muzzle and missing quite a few teeth. "Bug" has never been a pin-up girl, but her current state leaves ...her uglier than ever.
Someone once suggested that it was a good thing to have an ugly dog in the family, because it's a reminder that love can come in all shapes and sizes. And Bug certainly is an illustration of that truth. She is love in dog flesh. As soon as I sit down, she is in my lap, sprawled out belly-up for affection. She has always slept in the bed with us, preferring to be under the covers where she can press herself against my wife's legs as she snores through the night. She and her brother Jake are our alarm system, though they pose no threat to visitors. Anyone coming through the door will find out at once the bouncing joy of their welcome.
Having only one eye with which to view the world seems not to be too great a handicap for Bug. She may miss a dog treat tossed in her direction if it's a little off-target on the wrong side. But she sill makes it up and down the stairs just fine, and she seems to think the world is just as beautiful on her early morning walk. This homely creature seems to be winking now, as if she knows a wonderful secret. I smile, because the secret is that she certainly makes my world a little more lovely, even with one-eye.
One-Eyed Dog
Rolling in the brown grass
of a wintered field,
my one-eyed dog
seems oblivious of the fact
that she is missing half of the world
spread out in front of her.
She sniffs the breeze,
her pug nose alert for a passing dog,
or the scent of supper drifting
from a nearby kitchen.
A child runs up, asks if it is all right
to scratch her ears,
and at once the dog's tongue greets her
with unshackled delight.
We could feel sorry for this poor creature,
lament her disfiguring loss.
But I would be glad to see the world
as well with two eyes
as she seems to see with one.
There is always enough light
to see with the heart.
Having only one eye with which to view the world seems not to be too great a handicap for Bug. She may miss a dog treat tossed in her direction if it's a little off-target on the wrong side. But she sill makes it up and down the stairs just fine, and she seems to think the world is just as beautiful on her early morning walk. This homely creature seems to be winking now, as if she knows a wonderful secret. I smile, because the secret is that she certainly makes my world a little more lovely, even with one-eye.
One-Eyed Dog
Rolling in the brown grass
of a wintered field,
my one-eyed dog
seems oblivious of the fact
that she is missing half of the world
spread out in front of her.
She sniffs the breeze,
her pug nose alert for a passing dog,
or the scent of supper drifting
from a nearby kitchen.
A child runs up, asks if it is all right
to scratch her ears,
and at once the dog's tongue greets her
with unshackled delight.
We could feel sorry for this poor creature,
lament her disfiguring loss.
But I would be glad to see the world
as well with two eyes
as she seems to see with one.
There is always enough light
to see with the heart.
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