Tribute to Schipperke Woolf

In memory of my late dog Woolf. 

Scorched by the Torch (of life)

            Jane Simon (November 20, 2021)
                        For Woolf (2006-2021)
 
A recent presence
is now an acute absence
one hopes in a lifetime
for few such occurrences
 
Loss is the word 
we want to, but we
can’t escape
there is no exit
 
From emptiness
the hole of sadness
to leave it somewhere
 
Anywhere. Dilute with drink
but the measure is too
temporary; we sink to the bottom
 of the glass that is never deep enough
 
The ache we can’t reach
the scratch that refuses
relief, we’re stuck
 
In this autoclave of heat
we’re burning with the cold
of the heat, scorched
by the torch of love
 
The cold and the heat of loss
we never would seek 
but to live and die is
our unending destiny

Printed in: 

THE NEW YORK TIMES METRO: MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 17, 2007 
METROPOLITAN DIARY 

Dear Diary:

The following is a report of the most amusing session in my decades of psychiatric practice.
My little black dog, Woolf, a rescue schipperke — from a breed created centuries ago in Belgium to patrol the barges and keep rats out of the grain — also proves to be an effective exterminator.

When a water bug made a surprise visit to my office, I summoned Woolf from the back room. He dutifully captured the insect, which, protruding from his mouth, he attempted to give to my patient. A bit phobic, she ran screeching into the waiting room and leapt onto a chair. Sensing her distress, he dropped the bug and ran to comfort her. 

Laughing hysterically, we returned to the office to interpret the event. She appreciated his gesture of the gift, and his perspicacity in placing her comfort above capture. A few hours later, she phoned to thank us for the best session ever.

Jane Simon