Resurrecting The Dogs (day 17)

When Chance, the neighbor’s Dalmation
and Colette, our Brittany Spaniel conjoined
in the middle of the street
first day of 2nd grade,
the whole gang screamed
for our mothers, who
shooed us away,
said never mind.


Later, spotted pups
filled a red wagon we
dragged door to door
in search of treats from
 widow ladies up the street.
One-by-one they all went
to new homes
and Colette,
that brown-eyed,
pink nosed  beauty
eventually, driven off
to the country
(or so our Father said),
after she bit the boy
who played too rough.

The sleek black rescues:
Lucy, whose main crime
was birthing, Duncan, who,
with his mother, destroyed
a batch of homemade pasta
my father rolled
and left to dry
on the dining room
table,  last straw for Dad,
they met a similar fate
as Colette,
but never mind. 

The dogs who marked our
childhood years
our early married rambles
our children’s lives
Black and brown
grumpy and kind,
the ones who came back
from the brink to live again
survive deer kicks and
poisons, near misses, who
brought us their bloody
rabbits, headless moles, who
ruined our carpets, ate
cakes off the counter, raided
trash cans, waited at windows
for our returns
who ran away when we called,
were found by strangers
who sat at our feet
at suppertime, rested
heads on our knees
who died old in our arms
under showers of tears.

They come to mind,
measure our patience
and faith

Micah
Willie
Tucker
Opie
and Livvy,
who lives
and grows old
with us now, flawed,
adored like the rest
forgiving us
our sins each day
loving us
unconditionally.