I was trying to get her to pose for a photo with the ball in her mouth, as I can never catch it on the fly. She would have none of it; and only then did I realize that we were not alone in the yard. I’m not sure which of the three of us was more surprised!
As the dog days of summer are closing in, so am I nearing the end of this collection by the same name. I hope you have enjoyed these few poetic renderings of the antics of my beloved rescue dog and her quirky ways.
There are just a few left. Please do let me know what you think of them – did you laugh, cry, recall a favored canine of your own? Do these jottings make you wish for a dog, make you happy you do not have one? wish for time to wander vast fields and cornfields by the sea with nothing calling you but pen/keyboard? Do they bring up something else entirely??? Do tell!!!
Despite her heritage, retrieving
a tossed ball seems relevant
only from water;
even then, it’s merely a rescue
from the deep, closely guarded
back on land. Sometimes
it seems she feels responsible
to keep the landscape pure
of random tennis balls
clearly not organic to the land.
How else explain her pride
at her personal sport
of scrounging deep in wild field
or thickly rooted woodsy glen
to emerge, triumphant
ball in mouth. She’d be no asset
to a team demanding consistency
but loves the challenge of sniff-
and-carry-out from obscurity.