Barely beyond seven years,
I was a small brown-haired boy
biking in a small town.
Till, I found
a little feisty dog
angrily yapping
and snapping
at me
when I tried to be friendly.

Older by three or four years,
walking out of the housing
down alleyways
on my way to school.
Till, I met a big dumb dog,
friendly enough
and playful to boot,
just a little too rough
as it nibbled at my shoe,
then tugged at my pants.
It would not let me get away
scraping my legs
and making me late to school.

Almost thirty
working at Diary Queen,
dating some creepy girl
who was really mean,
and had a pit.
Poor dog had been abused,
kind of aggressive
when it wanted attention,
kind of dangerous
if you had your hands up,
bit and scratched me
a little too much
playing just a little too rough.

He was slow and slurred
in a stupidly stumped stupor
and in my naivete
I cared for him
because of my innate
sense of sympathy.
Until, the thieving
and harassment
finally took me
to the limits
of my patience.

It is a cold-hearted comparison
but I liked those dangerous dogs
more than that **** and ******
addict.