I'm Major Jackson, and this is the slowdown.

When our dog buzzed declined in health, Didi leaned down and whispered in his ear,

you better come find me in the afterlife.

And then she hugged his whole body and rocked.

She comforted his ailing bones.

She comforted herself through tears.

Grief ran ahead of her. The only consolation at losing our golden retriever was to project a reunion with him in the unforeseen future. The seed was planted.

I envision a reinvigorated buzz galloping around in search of us,

tongue lolling from side to side, as if looking for his favorite toy. Then, upon finding us,

exuberantly gazing up, expecting a treat. Then I thought of our neighbor Bruce. He was crestfallen for a month

after his pug died. A dog, he walked every day at the same hour. I dreamed once that Bruce

continued to walk up our street in the morning, though the leash

was empty.

The two of them would also be up there, reunited.

Suddenly, I saw hundreds of people leaning down rejoined with dogs of every breed, even stuffed

pets.

Seeing a doggy heaven in my mind fired up the same psychic energy, the parts of my brain I used to write a poem. It's almost as if my imagination

overcompensates for extreme emotions of grief by putting me into a mode of creativity.

I guess some of us are most inspired when facing life's harsher realities.

Watching Dini Grieve Buzz, Our Dog, gave me a window into the depth of loss, how we long to retain a connection to the dead,

how we perceive them as always present in various forms, maybe most in the love they left behind.

Today's poem calls back to a deceased beloved

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