He was not “just” a dog
"When MS and trigeminal neuralgia attacked my face, Oisín looked at me as if to say, “I’m here, I got you, I’m not going anywhere. You can count on me. ” In addition, when daily severe fatigue kept me depleted of energy, he showed me we could always play when I felt better. The list was endless. Oisín was the easiest-to-please MS nurse who learned fast and forgot even faster, just like his human. He reminded me that there is always tomorrow when my body refused to cooperate."
Along the Road, by Robert Browning Hamilton
I walked a mile with Pleasure
Making sense of MS
"Even with forced rest breaks and scheduling tasks around my MS, I still have a way of falling asleep in the most unusual poses and ways. If I were to introduce you to my mum, she could keep you up all night with my falling asleep antics. Of course, she’d still be talking to you, while I ungracefully slump over, drop books, am asleep within the first 3 to 5 minutes, sleep through loud fireworks, airplanes or my own house alarm blaring loudly. Like my nana always used to say, “When you do something, you have to do it properly.”
My brother’s silence
Grief, a tear in my mind when others talk about their brother. A hug I cannot feel anymore. A future we will not share anymore. There is a silence I cannot place, memories that are beginning to fade. The silence he leaves behind, follows me in places in Ireland I know he would have loved, he would want to return to time after time.
My brother
A small, black leather wallet. Used, worn, and carrying the scent of the jeans my brother used to wear. A plectrum faded from the many songs he played on his bass guitar. Memories. Too many to fill my mind at once. Love. Too deep to ever forget he was my brother, my only sibling.
A Dog’s Life, by Jonathan Robin
Sixteen years, now almost seventeen, I’ve played at stick and ball, stayed seldom still until good master’s call would whistle shrill to lead me back – no need to smack. Sight keen. Sixteen years tail’s wagged as faithful friend, as boon companion, running round fun years. His mother passed away, I shared the tears that fountained forth and never seemed to end. Sixteen years round each revolving moon from hearth and home I pick up slightest sound, ears prick, eyes bright, in sight I’m always found to hold my ground, though often play buffoon.
He is my dog, by Gene Hill
When I am wrong, he is delighted to forgive. When I am angry, he clowns to make me smile. When I am happy, he is joy unbounded. When I am a fool, he ignores it. When I succeed, he brags. Without him, I am only another man. With him, I am all-powerful. He is loyalty itself. He has taught me the meaning of devotion. With him, I know a secret comfort and a private peace. He has brought me understanding where before I was ignorant. His head on my knee can heal my human hurts.
