A Trio of Dog Poems

 

Taking The Leap

 

There’s no use 

falling in love with a dog,

I tell myself.

I may outlive him

as I’ve outlived others. 

 

Or he may outlive me 

and what then?

Who will care for him, 

spoil him, as I do?

 

One of us is bound 

to suffer in the end.

 

Yet I am selfish enough 

to fall in love anyway,

not knowing 

what the future holds

 

or which of us 

will grieve one day

when only memories remain.

 

Isn’t that 

what all love comes to in the end—

grief and memories?

 

And isn’t it worth it, anyway?

The Better End of the Bargain

 

In the winter of my days

I watch my little dog playing,

shredding a stuffed toy,

savoring the squeak,

as the toy surrenders its secrets.

 

He feels my gaze on him

and comes to me, 

grinning, all expectant.

He can’t resist a belly rub

a scratch behind the ears

or, if he’s lucky, one of the treats 

hidden in my pocket.

 

He views all life as possibility.

 

Did he do anything to earn a treat?

Other than adoration, that is, which

 he gives me unstintingly.

 

I cannot respond to nature’s call

without him following all delighted,

knowing he can rest his head 

on my bare knee and worship 

with such soulfulness

I’m moved to laughter; 

never mind I’ve been close to tears 

over some bad news or other.

 

He doesn’t recognize bad news,

unless I find the need to shout at him 

for something he never knew was naughty—

yet he never holds my rants against me.

 

He teaches me love unconditional,

just by being who he is.

 

There’s not an ounce of judgement in him,

while I mostly see things as good or bad

lacking or fulfilling, safe and secure, 

joyful or threatening.

 

Wait, I take that back. 

 

He has begun letting out

a deep unexpected woof,

 incongruous in such a little fellow,

if he hears a strange noise 

or suspects an intruder.

 

It’s okay, I tell him, 

and he accepts my decision,

but where did he learn 

to be suspicious and territorial? 

 

Who taught him to be afraid?

 

Perhaps—human that I am—

I’m rubbing off on him

as surely as he’s rubbing off on me.

 

If so, I got the better end of the bargain.

What I Must Remember

 

My little dog

with ears of silk

a tail like a question mark

eyes full of mischief and wisdom.

 

What are you thinking?

 

You could care less

who’s president or if

a virus is claiming lives;

nor do you worry if 

food will appear tomorrow.

 

You expose your belly

with total trust,

then climb into my lap

as if you belong there.

 

Who is your god?

 

Whom do you worship,

if not the one who feeds you,

who shares from her own plate,

the one whom you trust 

will always be there?

 

Can I do less than love

the one who feeds me,

watches over me in the dark,

and sends me rainbows 

when I falter?

 

We are all needy creatures

beholden to a higher power.

 

I must remember to wag

my tail more often

jump with joy

and sleep with perfect confidence

that the sun will rise in the morning.