Another dog, another poem what shall I say?
I wrote of Scout, my second Airedale who lived
To the ripe old age of 15 2/3.
He started waking and wandering all night,
Not a happy state for such a great dog
So I decided the time had come for him to be put to rest;
Not an easy decision certainly.
Ten days later I received an email from a friend
About two Airedales who were taken back to the *******
At almost 7  months, a pair of puppies, a male and a female,
Whose owners decided ?? they were too much to handle.
I contacted the ******* who said they had reclaimed the male.
I explained that my husband only wanted a male and I had just
Parted with my dear Scout.  She said "I'll send a picture."
I knew I had to go see this dog so I did.
Needless to say, I took a look
And watched the *******'s teenage son call the dog and rub her belly
"Well" the people asked, "what do you think?"
"I will take her" I said.
Off we started in a huge rainstorm with Daisy in the backseat,
Standing, sliding onto the floor.
I gave my neighbor a call and asked if she could
Spare some dog food. Of course she said "yes"
Almost as excited as I was about this new puppy.
She came out to the car with food and treats
Crawling in the back seat to meet Daisy.
"By the way, Daisy threw up all over the floor."

Said darling daughter unto me:
"oh Dad, how funny it would be
If you had gone to Mexico
A score or so of years ago.
Had not some whimsey changed your plan
I might have been a Mexican.
With lissome form and raven hair,
Instead of being fat and fair.

"Or if you'd sailed the Southern Seas
And mated with a Japanese
I might have been a squatty girl
With never golden locks to curl,
Who flirted with a painted fan,
And tinkled on a samisan,
And maybe slept upon a mat -
I'm very glad I don't do that.

"When I consider the romance
Of all your youth of change and chance
I might, I fancy, just as well
Have bloomed a bold Tahitian belle,
Or have been born . . . but there - ah no!
I draw the line - and Esquimeaux.
It scares me stiff to think of what
I might have been - thank God! I'm not."

Said I: "my dear, don't be absurd,
Since everything that has occurred,
Through seeming fickle in your eyes,
Could not a jot be otherwise.
For in this casual cosmic biz
The world can be but what it is;
And nobody can dare deny
Part of this world is you and I.

Or call it fate or destiny
No other issue could there be.
Though half the world I've wandered through
Cause and effect have linked us two.
Aye, all the aeons of the past
Conspired to bring us here at last,
And all I ever chanced to do
Inevitably led to you.

To you, to make you what you are,
A maiden in a Morris car,
IN Harris tweeds, an airedale too,
But Anglo-Saxon through and through.
And all the good and ill I've done
In every land beneath the sun
Magnificently led to this -
A country cottage and - your kiss."

I began with verse about Wyeth's Christina
but I couldn't see her face, and I've never been to Maine
though her twisted body pains me

then I flew to the opposite coast
summoned by the memory of a ghost:
my best friend at Bodega Bay, one fine day
forty Augusts gone

he threw a Frisbee to his Airedale
and we ate sprout sandwiches, avoiding the foul
karma from the slaughter of beeves,
hogs, he said

I would like to relive that day,
with its blue dusk, but the clock can't be rewound
and he is not to be found on the great Pacific

kin who barely knew his face
chose his final space--a hot hole on Oklahoma
prairies, not far from his drunken father
and others who never saw him watch
the sun sink gold into the sea

in my head I'll exhume him,
maybe return him to the waves
that reclaim all things

or introduce him to Christina
a continent away--he could help me know her
though her eyes face another world

pear leaves strum the high wire
fern roots claw a sun drenched bank
creep vines mount the hedgerow
sow bugs jump a grated worn step

picket wall stain on cedar
mountain stream brisk at lush green pass
four legs down the foot path
biscuit brown trailers fill the pipe

spiders march on dew web
knots and rivets cut hard at the seam
maples cover the forest floor
sap ***** ping the front gate

dandelions drift on west breeze
blue berries plump at shepherds grove
wood sill holds a stained glass
letter box lined above the scrub

delft ware on the mantle
(with petals and script for a promised guest!)
junior poised with mouth agape
birds and squirrels whistle jovial tunes

goldfinch darts the sea ranch
tabby cat rests in a white wicker chair
a crafters window in the alpine
follies await the summer task!

queen bee on the flutter
airedale set on a woven grey mat
watchmen of the hollow (+ earwig and mite!)
scurry, under rustled moist leaves

frogs leap at trickle creek
shutter bugs mount on gryphons lair
still water ripples in the shaded pool
folding fingers on corner bridge

foragers cut the high shelf
silver fish come to life
whiskey jack sings on indian green
elijah and xavier pause...
at a long days end

She's not a lady
In the strictest sense
She's my puppy dog
And that's her defense.
Got her at seven months
Wild and crazy
And it's been so since.
She's not like the others
Both male
And gotten as pups
But we love her nevertheless.
Oddly she and I have the same birthday
We are both Virgos and that's a fact.
Had just put down dear old Scout
Didn't know what my life would be without
Miraculously an email appeared
From a friend who knew my pain
Said someone took their pups back
To the ******* again.
We wanted a male
But who could resist
An opportunity like this.
How can I describe her
Noisy, enthusiastic, Stubborn
Playful, Insistent, Beautiful
And Special as all dogs should be.

Had him since he was a baby sitting on my lap until he grew up
What a baby dog he will always be
This curious Airedale who befuddles me
Outsmarts me
Friends, oh he has friends
Especially people
What a cute face they always say
As he looks at them quizzically or innocently
I don't always tell them that his brain is working overtime
And this seeming charm is a facade.
Escape artist watching me garden and taking off to visit the neighbors
Once ran away during a thunderstorm down a busy road
to be rescued by strangers and taken to a nearby town's vet
Heartbreaking, wondering where he was
Not the last time he disappeared
Once on a mountain hike where only the visioning of a friend brought him back
Now he is twelve
How much longer do I have to be with him
To sense his vitality
His love of life
And love of walks
And love of chicken stuff
He will always be special in my heart and the hearts of others.