We had Tess from being a puppy, a lovely black (and a little white) collie cross, and she was the smartest cleanest bestest dog we have ever known. She’s buried in the garden looking at the fields forever, Martin even took her collar off so she could be free. There are flowers round her grave, and I talk to her often when I am in the garden, even after all these years – she was so very special. We have never replaced her, and I don’t think we will while we live here, maybe when we move to the coast…maybe. The poem reads like she was my dog, she wasn’t really, she was a dog for all of us (but she followed me everywhere). We even have a little scrap of paper that Ben wrote in class (he was only 8 when she died) that says he misses his dog Tess. She really was a dog for all seasons.

PUBLISHED in One Hundred Poems for Hearing Dogs March 2025