Friday, September 2, 2016

Hair of the Dog

In all the corners
she remains
tumbleweeds of tangled fur
black, mingled with grey and dust

I find her dancing across the tile floor
even as I jump to scoop her up
spending a moment before
placing her in the bin.

Sixteen years of such furballs
of tail chasing and doing
the "crazy dog"
sixteen winter snowy romps
summer sprinkler leaps and flips
autumn walks on wooded trails

I see her next to each growing child
our sentry at the window
our pillow, our timekeeper
our puppy.

Sammy just now left us.
Yet, in all my

she remains.