Yesterday, we battled wits, tense
toe to toe, disconnected all day,
exhausted and silent by night.
You: newly adopted, young male,
learning house rules, growling and defiant.
Me: a my-house-my-rules kind of girl, yelling back,
staring you down
for that same impossibly long–
Today, I start from the floor.
Center of the room. Sitting.
Roll down to stretch, eyes closed. You,
inch close, lean all 50 pounds
against my leg. Sigh. Sit too, for a bit. Then
begin to paw my back– soft, rhythmic,
patient—stopping only when
I look up at you.
“Come,” you say
eyes a softer brown today,
“Enlightenment awaits us
at the dog park.”
Tara Linda 2012©
Newly adopted from SF Pet Rescue Center.