PRAISE OF A DOG
even her conversation was tiny:
She was a small dog, neat and fluid –
she greeted you with a bow, never a bow-wow.
Her sons stood monumentally over herbut did what she told them. Each grew grizzled
till it seemed he was his own mother's grandfather.
Once, gathering sheep on a showery day,I remarked how dry she was. Pollochan said, ‘Ah,
it would take a very accurate drop to hit Lassie.’
She sailed in the dingy like a proper sea dog.Where’s a burn? – She's first on the other side.
She flowed through fences like a piece of black wind
But suddenly she was old and sick and crippled....I grieved for Pollochan when he took her a stroll
and put his gun to the back of her head.
Norman MacCaigJanuary 1974