Mom is dead
and my brother
inherited her dog
old herself now
at eighteen.

Hips crippled up
thick cataracts in her eyes
nearly deaf
coat that was once
richly reddish-brown enough
to inspire the name
Cinnamon
now almost entirely white.

Everybody looks at her and thinks
“It won’t be long now.”

And at Cindy’s end
Is another part of Mom gone
Another link to the old days broken
Because Cindy remembers her
And we have loving her in common.

But Cindy’s still here.
Still with us
Still gets the zoomies
(Although 18-year-old
Chihuahua zoomies are
A very different affair from
Puppy zoomies)
Still eats her kibble
With dignified spice girl entheusiasm.

And all I want
Is to keep her with us
And keep her comfortable
And wanting to be with us
until she can’t anymore.

And saying goodbye to her
Becomes another way
To say goodbye
To Mom.