fall song

credit – alan nyiri

With the ‘official’ ending of summer – if not by weather or astronomy, then at least by the work calendar – we come to the end of the “Dog Days” collection. I have enjoyed the opportunity to share in-progress works with you and appreciated your comments. Perhaps someday these little ditties will appear in print as part of a longer collection.

For now, please enjoy my last offering and let your own autumn season be a lingering and languorous opening to what wants to fall away.


On the rise of wind she sniffs
nose a-twitch on unseen trail,
leaps lithe in frosty air, shadow dance
on leaves that crunch crisp
beneath my feet – near silent
under hers

earthbound, yet my spirit soars
with her neon orange neck agleam
in swirling circles, entire
tree fall tumbling, twirling
as she runs, returns, fleet and frisky,
eager for each new breath; as if to swallow
autumn whole, she glides, gallops
points, returns, effortless in endless work
of play in mid-autumn woods

midway between summer’s light
and winter’s dark, this late afternoon
glow of setting sun settling
into calmer pace, one she’s not yet
set to receive, reveling instead
in youthful vigor and delight
in autumn’s edging amber light.


relay dog


She scoops a stick, bounds forward
tail arcing excitement overhead
as she snuffles, drops stick

for twig, flips it upward
twists to catch, turning
her head as she lurches forward

drops it to sniff and grab
a chunk of log, carries it aloft
despite its bulk, pauses

to place it groundward, one paw
holding it firm, the other
her; catches sight

of a fully dressed branch, leaves
the log for this new delight
crossing the threshold of home
head held high, eyes alight.


zen dog

credit - swb

credit – swb

We’re nearing the end of the collection “Dog Days” with today’s post. While I continue to write about my faithful canine companion, I have yet to try writing in her voice. But we certainly have had our raucous romps and quiet cuddles throughout the years. I am so grateful for her in my life. As much as I rescued her, she has in many ways done the same for me.


Short attention span,
some would say of she who can
hold my gaze as long as I ask

but flits from scent to tree
to moving hand, eager
to be the one to greet

to initiate encounters
of frolic and speed;
throw a ball

and she runs quick as silver
but once there, turns
to the flowers, or from the child

equally planted there.
It comes to me now – she
lives with beginner’s mind

is the only one of us
truly present
moment to moment.



ball dog

Loki meets woodchuck

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.


corn dog

rows of corn

credit – syngenta


Early July, her tail waves
            above stalks
of late-planted corn

as she prowls the rows
            on the trail
of raccoon or hare

the corn parting
            like so many waves
on the sea as she speeds

thundering along the hard
            packed ground
paws ringing like hooves.

Late July the corn
            has caught on
that it needs to catch up;

her tail no longer visible
            nor her moving a sway,
she is swallowed whole.