TRANSCRIPT

I’m Maggie Smith, and this is The Slowdown. 

I’m a dog person. I know the dogs in my neighborhood, sometimes without knowing their owners. It’s not unusual for me to bend down and greet the dogs, petting them and calling them very good boys and very sweet girls, before realizing I’ve barely acknowledged the human being holding the leash. 

I grew up with a black lab named Tasha. My parents got her when I was a baby, so we grew up together, and she lived until we were both fourteen. She lived to be a gentle old lady with a silver muzzle, whatever 14x7 is in dog years…

My Boston terrier, Phoebe, is about to turn eleven, so if she were a human, she’d be a 77 year old woman. If Phoebe were one of the Golden Girls, she’d probably be Rose: quirky, loyal, a little dim-witted. We adopted her from a Boston terrier rescue organization when she was one and a half, in the spring of 2016. When people assumed that the best thing to happen to me in 2016 was my poem “Good Bones” going viral, I have to correct them. “Good Bones” changed my life, to be sure, but the best thing to happen to me that year was Phoebe. As she grows older—silver muzzle now, too—I get emotional when I’m reminded that my years with her are limited. We only have so much time.

Today’s poem is by one of my favorite Kentucky writers, a fellow dog person.

For You Who Have Loved Old Dogs
by Silas House

Old Andy is a big dog, black as a 
night sky in the most lonesome winter months.
He is fat even though he doesn’t eat
much these days. His man is one of the best
folks I know. They were hiking deep in the 
high mountains when good Andy’s back legs stopped
their work. The old dog folded himself down
on the path, his eyes lighting on his man’s 
to apologize. My friend carried him
nearly a mile, this great sprawl of blessed
animal, who must have lain in his arms
both thankful and ashamed. They collapsed
together at the end of the steep trail,
holding on to each other, exhausted.

I’m thankful for you who take care of old
dogs. I’m glad you have one another when 
you need a friend the most, that you’ve had times
of stillness, watching the world, that you know
the grace of silence together. I thank 
the infinite eternity and the 
God of my understanding for people
like you, who carry them when they need you.

Three times now I’ve held an old dog
in my arms as they left me. Three times
I felt their heartbeats fade away on my palm,
witnessing a shooting star become 
more darkness. The end. All is lost and gone.

I’ve grieved for each of them just as much as
I have for people I’ve loved. I’ve carried
the sweet sorrow with me, a heft I wish
I did not have to bear but one that I 
will always cherish now. The burden
of my empty arms is the greatest weight.

"For You Who Have Loved Old Dogs" by Silas House from ALL THESE GHOSTS © 2025 Silas House. Used by permission of Blair.