called Otis these past twelve years
has been returned to the earth.
We knew it was coming.
Thought it still yet days away,
but the night just past
harder than any soul
should have to bear,
so we made the needful trip
to the doctor of animals
with her longed-for
syringe of compassionate end
we wished we didn’t need.
This is the thing about animal love,
by which I mean any kind of love:
It is laced with boundedness,
infused with inevitable grief,
it is, like the whole world, mortal.