Walking the dog on the night before He is to be fixed

Walking the Dog on the Night before He Is to Be Fixed by John Stone | Saturday, August 05, 2017 | The Writer's Almanac with Garrison Keillor

As far as I can tell, old chum, neuter

is neither here nor there, but in-between,

a state that has a certain charm, like pewter,

prized for durability, if not for sheen.

Tomorrow night you’ll stroll in wary fashion

after the sleep, the knife, the careful scars

that promise to put an end to wayward passion

not to mention long-imagined wars

for territorial rights, a lady’s paw.

Tomorrow the thermostat is set on cold

in calculated stern hormonal law.

What I know of this is what I’m told:

All veterans must come before the vet

on calendars either canine or lunar.

All lose that first fine frenzy to beget

whether it be later, friend, or sooner.

I toast us both then, Franz, in our decrease,

though there’s no way for you to know that I’m

also tugging manfully at the leash,

waiting doggedly for the nick of time.