Once I was best friends with
the greatest hunter ever.
A genuine killer.
Anything that came
inside the fence line
was fair game.
Armadillos, 'possums,
turtles & even a couple of hawks
met their demise when he locked
his keen eyes onto them.
Three or four tom cats
barely got out alive.
He licked & he loved,
scratched doors & glass
with his manicured-nails.
Once, he ate the red paint
off my garden pail.
He had chips in his teeth,
it was funny as hell,
glad it wasn't lead-based.
The cucumbers I grew
rarely made it
to the dinner table.
He'd lay in the vines
with a look on his face
of sheer contentment.
Rolling grapes & peanut butter
were his favorites, but really,
he'd eat just about anything
'cept kale.
When he went blind,
he still got a squirrel
or two & went to
digging up shrews,
left several lying around dead
as proof of his skill.
When he died,
I cried an ocean of tears.
He's buried out
in the backyard
along with his two sisters,
I miss them & their
familiar barks every day.
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 6:00 AM UTC
Once I was best friends with
the greatest hunter ever.
A genuine killer.
Anything that came
inside the fence line
was fair game.
Armadillos, 'possums,
turtles & even a couple of hawks
met their demise when he locked
his keen eyes onto them.
Three or four tom cats
barely got out alive.
He licked & he loved,
scratched doors & glass
with his manicured-nails.
Once, he ate the red paint
off my garden pail.
He had chips in his teeth,
it was funny as hell,
glad it wasn't lead-based.
The cucumbers I grew
rarely made it
to the dinner table.
He'd lay in the vines
with a look on his face
of sheer contentment.
Rolling grapes & peanut butter
were his favorites, but really,
he'd eat just about anything
'cept kale.
When he went blind,
he still got a squirrel
or two & went to
digging up shrews,
left several lying around dead
as proof of his skill.
When he died,
I cried an ocean of tears.
He's buried out
in the backyard
along with his two sisters,
I miss them & their
familiar barks every day.
Request permission to use this poem