A Dog Has Died

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    <strong>A Dog Has Died</strong>

    My dog has died.

    I buried him in the garden

    o a rusted old mae.

    Some day Ill join him right there,

    bu<s></s>t now hes goh his shaggy coat,

    his bad manners and his cold nose,

    and I, the materialist, who never believed

    in any promised heaven in the sky

    for any human being,

    I believe in a heaven Ill never enter.

    Yes, I believe in a heaven for all dogdom

    where my dog waits for my arrival

    waving his fan-like tail in friendship.

    Ai, Ill not speak of sadness here oh,

    of having lost a panion

    who was never servile.

    His friendship for me, like that of a pore

    withholding its authority,

    was the friendship of a star, aloof,

    with no more intimacy than was called for,

    with no exaggerations:

    he never climbed all over my clothes

    filling me full of his hair or his mange,

    he never rubbed up against my knee

    like s obsessed with sex.

    No, my dog used to gaze at me,

    payihe attention I need,

    the attention required

    to make a vain person like me uand

    that, being a dog, he was wasting time,

    but, with those eyes so much purer than mine,

    hed keep on gazing at me

    with a look that reserved for me alone

    all his sweet and shaggy life,

    always near me, roubling me,

    and asking nothi<figure>99lib.</figure>ng.

    Ai, how many times have I envied his tail

    as we walked together on the shores of the sea

    in the lonely winter of Isla Negra

    where the wintering birds filled the sky

    and my hairy dog was jumping about

    full of the voltage of the seas movement:

    my wandering <dfn></dfn>dog, sniffing away

    with his golden tail held high,

    face to face with<cite></cite> the os spray.

    Joyful, joyful, joyful,

    as only dogs know how to be happy

    wit<var>.99lib.</var>h only the autonomy

    of their shameless spirit.

    There are no good-byes for my dog who has died,

    and we dont now and never did lie to each other.

    So now hes gone and I buried him,

    and thats all there is to it.

    Translated, from the Spanish, by Alfred Yankauer

    <strong>Pablo Neruda</strong>

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