avatarJacob Flanders

Summary

The text is a poignant reflection on the loss of a beloved pet, Moose Goose, through a personal poem and accompanying prose.

Abstract

The website content features a heartfelt poem titled "I sometimes sat and wondered who," which contemplates the inevitable departure of a cherished pet, referred to as Moose Goose or Baby Deer. The author reflects on the bond between themselves and their pet, acknowledging the fear of loss while cherishing each day they have together. The poem speaks to the universal experience of loving and eventually saying goodbye to a pet, emphasizing the wisdom and comfort they provide despite the brevity of their lives. Accompanied by a photograph of Moose Goose, the piece serves as a touching tribute to the pet's memory and the impact they had on the author's life. The author also invites readers to explore other works and consider joining Medium.

Opinions

  • The author expresses a deep emotional connection to their pet, Moose Goose, considering them an integral part of their life.
  • There is an acknowledgment of the inevitability of loss, yet a conscious choice to appreciate the present moment with their pet.
  • The poem suggests that pets offer wisdom and comfort to their human companions, helping them to face life's brevity and embrace it fully.
  • The author views the future as a gift and advocates for facing life's realities with resilience and gratitude.
  • The text implies that non-human creatures communicate their own form of wisdom, encouraging humans not to dwell on sorrow but to embrace all aspects of life, including grief.
  • The author expresses gratitude to Moose Goose for the lessons learned and the companionship provided, indicating a sense of peace with the natural cycle of life and death.

I sometimes sat and wondered who

A poem of loss

Photo courtesy of Jacob Flanders, March 2021: In memory of our sweet, baby Moose Goose, the apple of our eye. March 2014 — September 2021. Rest in peace, Baby Deer — you are the sun, and it is ever you we orbit.

I sometimes sat and wondered who would be the first to go— to leave our sixteen legged pack, prints missing in the snow.

I’d watch you then, for signs of what one day was sure to come, and tell myself she looks okay: bright eyes, soft coat, pink gums.

Today won’t be the day I fear, this week won’t be the week. “We won’t go on without our Moose,” I’d say, and kiss your cheek.

You’d look me in the eye just so, as if you knew my fear, as if to say “I’m fine today— your healthy Baby Deer.”

I rather chose to say “Yes, love, I second what you said— we all are here, today, sweet Goose, shared pathway left to tread.

And though the road, I know, will fork, it hasn’t done so yet; we’re here, just now, in this: today— tomorrow is no threat.”

The future is, I now know well, a gift for those who rise, and face the fact that life is brief— especially with ties

to other creatures, small and large, who nat’rally do speak: in bark and mew and cheep and bray, and hoot and purr and squeak.

They thusly tell us not to dwell—  but rather to embrace— all of the things, including grief, we’re blessed with in this place.

So thank you, Moose Goose Baby Deer, you eased my human woe, you offered wisdom that I lacked, and then I let you go.

Thanks for reading. You might check out some of my other work. And if you aren’t a member, you might consider joining.

Life
Dogs
Loss
Poetry
Pets
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