“Outside of a dog, a book is man’s best friend. Inside of a dog it’s too dark to read.” Groucho Marx.
She’s socially uncomfortable.
Let’s get her a puppy, another dog.
Let’s get the dog a dog.
And the cat.
All the cats.
Another playmate to her posse.
To follow her up and down the stairs.
Like lambs to Mary.
As she convalesces.
Her brain and confidence bruised.
Boredom and inertia breaking her.
Fear in cycles deep.
Of never ever going back.
And the cold stares.
When she needs a true friend.
Let’s get her a dog.
Old friend, we’ve gone this route before,
you, witness, wag shaking by the door
seeking, waiting, leaping and running
never late nor early, always just coming
arriving just before me, eagerly unsure
hot and breathing heavy, somewhat sore
when we go long and distant, you, me
running by the beach, cooled by the sea
those days we both were stronger then
me with solid knees, you, a leaner bend
back high and haunches thickly sturdy
unlike now as we hack and sweat dirty
dripping salty stains down our backs
your mouth sweating along the tracks
we no longer run, you and me, my pal
my faithful fan knee high wagging tail.
I call you witness for a nose knows all
those you wait for, scraps to ever fall
side by your keeper, quiet, ready sight
the world tethered to sense and fright.
We who savor your riches watch you
watching us awaiting the familiar cue
“Come to me, Kiah.” Let vigilance rest,
in settled dreams, my furry ever-guest.
Photo credit: Chris Clevely