Horizon at Sandy Point

Sunday, February 17, 2013

Who's on the leash?

Everyone loves my dog. He is a ridiculous creature I admit.

Swimming on his back

It's hard not to smile when you see his curly tail waving, like a feather duster or Carnival banner. His front legs are bandy; the back pigeon-toed. He rocks down the driveway like a Chinese dragon danced by four drunken bearers. His tail rolls with the gait.

The fuzzy face is a dark lion's mane, out of which peer inscrutable button eyes, sometimes honey brown sometimes amber.

He is a large living stuffed toy that does the "downward dog" yoga slide when he's sitting or getting up. He pulls his back legs under his rump or stretches them straight out. He goes to sleep and his head lolls to the side.
On the leash
Such a dog is no creature with a wild past. He is the legacy of the peoples that bred him; and of the family that keeps him; an inspiration for blogs and blank verse, ipad photography and phone videography.

This dog goes
inquisiting with his nose
the spoor of creatures
on two or four.

He traces musk memory
pillar to post to grassy stalk
tree root and park bench
where he's been before
each day is new territory.

On the line and lag of his leash
the human is anchor and ship

Who's walking who,
Whose mind runs on unseen trails
nosing lyric and line words wind whispered
meandering and leaping
unstumbling without pause

Who's leading: who
holds the end of the leash

Stretched out to sleep

Pause in the park

Sniffing out animal scent

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