Yard Dog

You were a wild

wolf puppy,

gamboling along

the beach

in your early years,

free and joyous,

a wild creature

under the sun.

in your middle years,

away from

the wild places

we loved,

we daily sought

the river

and the tamer

forest trails,

your ears and nose

alert

for critters

in the bush.

Every afternoon,

your nose

would follow

the rich smells

of the forest floor,

and you would bathe

in river, creek or lake,

one with the wild

in shorter increments,

that allowed us

to survive

our incarceration.

In your elder years,

as your legs

and back gave out,

our walks

were fewer

and shorter

but you lived for

those times,

at lake and river,

times when

the old wild light

came back into

your eyes.

In your huge

wild yard,

you reigned

supreme.

You ruled

the street,

lying up

by the fence,

where you

could mark

all passings

of car, or dog,

or horse

with your

loud imperious

barking:

Who passes

through

my territory?

Your yard

has been

so empty

without you.

I look at it,

and am bereft.

But just lately,

Jasmine

has been

acting excited,

all along

the fence,

poking her nose

through the slats,

wagging her tail,

as she did

when you

touched noses

in the final days

before your death.

And I am

wondering:

are you back?

Did your spirit

come home

to the only home

you knew?

I had pictured you

running

free and joyous

once again

along the beach.

But your spirit

and mine

were so

strongly linked,

it makes sense

that you'd

come home

to be

with me,

in your yard,

where you

reigned supreme

and were

king of the street,

Spirit Dog,

forever

my defender,

Wolf Pup,

forever

in my heart.