Forgotten

Forgotten He was broken, friendless, abandoned, living day to day, skulking in the brush. To warm himself, he lay dead still in a patch of sunlight allowing a hollow warmth to sooth him. I spoke to him, called him old friend, brought him food. He came to know me, to trust my footfalls, to come and greet me and wait patiently for his dinner. I invited him to come home with me, coaxed, prodded, cajoled, to no avail. He would disappear at times for a day or two, then return, hungry and looking for a scratch behind the ears, a friendly voice, a moment of friendship. In the end the thought of the coming winter, and his age, led him to concede his time. He left, still somewhat broken, but no longer friendless, no longer alone. I think he succumbed to a broken heart from which he never fully recovered, from the loneliness, not of being alone, but of being forgotten. I think of my old friend each time I walk past the sheltering trees from which he would emerge at the sound of my voice and thank him for the friendship he extended to me. The trust of a friend for a friend. John G. Lawless 6/23/2014