Eulogy for a Dog with Sad Eyes

By Margaret Emma Brandl

February 3, 2020

Eulogy for a Dog with Sad Eyes

You were always underfoot, in fibers of the carpet, your big shape blocking doorways and chair-paths until you decided on your own where to go. You shook when there were fireworks, you barked when we got locked out, you smiled up at the camera from the grass and licked soap out of your eyes and walked so slowly and stubbornly, house to road to church. Back again. I think I knew once I met you that I would live to see you die and I would tell it to myself sometimes, just to hear the sound of it. To test if I could keep moving. And of course I could, I always could, because that’s what life will be. Finding use in loving when it always ends in losing. Sitting in the sunbeams on a marble floor and filming you with my camera, listening to your soft sounds with the TV droning on in the background, opening the porch door again and again and again.


Margaret Emma Brandl’s writing has appeared in journals such as Gulf Coast, The Cincinnati Review, Yalobusha Review, Pithead Chapel, Cartridge Lit, and CHEAP POP. She earned her PhD at Texas Tech University and her MFA at Notre Dame and currently works as a Visiting Assistant Professor of English at Austin College. 


Photo courtesy of the author.

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