He Was Only a Dog by Howard Brown

 

He Was Only a Dog

A mutt you adopted at the animal

shelter the very day they were

scheduled to put him down;

A dyslexic ball of fur, often dozing

during the daylight hours, then

wanting to romp and play throughout

night;

A rascal who would stand and

stare at you when you put him

in the back yard to do his business,

then pee on the living room rug

once you let him back inside;

Who sometimes turned up his

nose at whatever you fed him,

but delighted in gnawing on a

leg of the dining room table;

Yet over time changing

the very fabric of your life,

like water working its

way—drop by persistent

drop—through a piece of

stone;

In later years, often satisfied to

simply lie on the floor and stare

up at you through wistful,

chestnut eyes;

A creature who loved you

without regard to the balance in

your checkbook or how the rest

of the world judged you;

Perhaps that’s why, when the time

finally came for the two of you to

part, it was so difficult for you to

believe he was only a dog.

___

Howard Brown is a retired attorney who lives with his wife, Ann, on Lookout Mountain, TN. He has published poetry in numerous print and online journals and is the author of two poetry collections, i.e. "The Gossamer Nature of Random Things" and “Variations in the Perception of Color." 

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