Tassel was a miniature poodle, a city dog of many years, who made the transition with us to the country in 1988 (now -- in summer 2005 -- some seventeen years ago). She lived for another year here on our drumlin overlooking Lake Ontario. She died on the living room floor with both of us patting her -- and is buried under a birch tree in our garden. A death one would choose for oneself -- but of course we don't have a choice.
Most of our poems about Tassel date back to when we were living on Madison Avenue, in the Annex in Toronto. In approximate chronological order they are:
Only one poem was written out here in SwallowHill and it focuses, in a way, on her anticipated death -- which could be foreseen from her occasional shivering (and from the vet telling us she was likely going to have an unavoidable stroke -- which she ultimately did). The poem is Dog's Sleep.