Roxie

 

 

She watches, porcelain-like still

Waiting for a sign of intention

I move slowly in morning daze

She, alert, springs toward the door.

 

In disappointment she sees me sink back

And resumes her vigil upon my slow awakening.

I stand, her ears rise, eager tail in motion

She is locked onto my movements

 

I fumble about gathering bits, keys and such

She rises, ready for anything, always dressed

Finally, the point of no return, I lift her collar

It slips effortlessly over her silken head.

 

We head out into the bright morning.

With a nimble hop she is in the car.

Up through winding lanes we head

Sending pheasants scurrying for the hedge.

 

Paradise Copse is where we stop

In minutes we are in a world of nature

Scented woods, bluebell lined

Birdsong, with wind in leaf continuo.

 

She is laughing with joy, no really, I’m sure

As she skips thru’ the brush kicking up leaves

Stops to locate me, a darting glance, then off

Nose to the ground intent on the scent.

 

A walker approaches, her hackles rise

She slows, lowers her head, a faint cry

Darting forward to meet a new friend

Circling etiquette ensues, formalities observed.

 

With a crouch and a skip they’re off for a run

How would be if we could play like this

They bound out of sight as I make small talk

On the wonder of dogs, and painful knees

 

They tumble back to hefty praise

With tongue lolling she sets off anew

Right in the moment, she canters on.

How I envy her present sense.

 

The car looms, our circuit complete

She could do this all day but I am done

Back down the hill, her head sticking out

Reveling in rushing air catching scents everywhere

 

Arriving home we observe the rituals

I clean her paws and check her over

A hearty breakfast for her, a cup of tea for me.

Then she falls asleep till a quarter to three.

 

Written by Francis de Aguilar©2014

 

Roxie

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