A friend named Bingo

This is something I wrote after my family dog was killed by the illegal trap of a local trapper.

In a time that now seems so dim I met a yellow friend.  I remember first seeing him as I walked out from a desert prison and though we had never before met, he was happy to simply see me.  Life continued on and I moved from place to place.  This yellow friend was always so near though he belonged to another face. 

Yellow though he was, he was loyal too.  He would defend with all he had if ever he had to.  He stood by her side, this face which he belonged.  He mourned every moment away for she was his security against an old life lived in harm. 

In a time when he had long hair, the lands were always cold.  I remember running my hands through it when I felt so deeply alone.  His eyes were amber when the sun came out to play, then dark as redwood forests when the moon put the sun at bay.  Nary did he speak unless something was amiss, but he would shake and rustle when ever he saw his friends. 

My yellow friend valued the simple pleasures of cool water and BBQ weekends.  He was content with small gifts and passing compliments.  My yellow friend stood by all he believed in and never once failed in his friendship.  He was prone to sensitivity in a way only a true friend could be.  He could see the truth within anyone, even if they could see nothing for themselves and loved those who loved him as if he somehow lived in a perfect world.

When the sun came out to scorch his home my yellow friend kept his hair short.  He looked like something altogether new, but you always understood what he was deep in his heart.  He didn’t like the booze and hated when you were sick; but never did he pass judgment when all others felt you needed it.  My yellow friend was a quirky fellow but one you’d love to greet.  Everyone around knew him as Bingo and he was the best pup you could ever meet. 

I lost my dear friend Bingo in a world of savagery and disdain.  A world where liars win and cheaters are made saints.  But though he lived and died in such a terrible place, his heart was pure and beautiful so he could go to a better place.  My friend Bingo is not yellow any more.  He fell to a trappers greed and now his fur is made of gold.  He left me with a hollow heart for he truly is the greatest kind of friend.  At least now he can always be with us for his memory is pure and kind.  I will miss him dearly when she comes around.  But in his soul he may come to let us feel the warmth of his friendly glow.