Eulogy for Brutus
by Ross Clark


I never loved him
more than that last time
I saw him, with the light
fading from his eyes
as he lay there, unable
to drag his trailing guts
any further, but letting me
rub his rough head,
as we watched the blood
drain from the wounds
the pig had made. But
when I saw he was still
at his work, licking up
the pig's blood, and
his own blood, my heart
started pumping water
and salt down my cheeks,
I don't mind telling you.
I'd trained him to the taste
for blood, but this was his;
was he trying to get the life
back into himself so he could
keep chasing them down--
Buried him there in that
coagulating dirt, and marked
the spot with tusks and collar.
Even at the end he was tough
and beautiful, the best pig-dog
ever.






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