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Guard Dog



We have gotten mostly past the pain
of helping our elderly cats and dogs die.
Helping was surely more painful
than the dying itself.  I should know.
I am nearly 85.  And I recognize my own end
up there on the road ahead
is much easier to admit than thinking of
helping another animal-companion die.

Cooper is 5.  I said,
"What the hell!
I will die before he does."

So we got a dog;
a small dog,
a mixture
of miniature things.
He was quiet,
alert, and inquisitive.
He didn't bark.
He just stood proud,
ears up, glancing at us
as if to ask, "What's that?"

That was days ago.

Cooper has discovered his bark,
and maybe his lisp and pith and pitch, too.
He has discovered birds,
and as an intelligent dog should,
he has decided to protect us
against birds.  He barks at them.

"Goldfish,"
 I said to myself,
"Guppies."


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