Good times.

Digger in the snow.

Digger is the third dog we have rescued.  He is the sweetest, most trustworty little mutt you would care to meet.  We don’t know much about what a life he had before he met us,  but he appears to be very happy here, after nearly two years. Through him, I have met lots of wonderful friends I would never have bumped into, and there are sunny days on this park here, where he and I just shoot the breeze, and pick up with whichever canine and humans mates turn up. Through him I manage to exercise unwilling limbs,  and benefit from the gentle effort.  He keeps me well, and not just in the joints.  The seasons change, and with them time marches on, and I am allowed to meditate my way through it all.

A dog’s life

Although  dog is bored, dog
does not complain.
An occasional sigh,
expulsion of disgruntled breath.
I tell him I’m bored too, but
not enough to fetch his lead.
He settles for a rub
and a tickle or two. I like his composure.
‘Pleasure is the absence of pain’  I tell him,
and comma-like, his presence comforts me.
He has accepted me, after abandonment,
has stories I  will never hear, a life
lived without and before us. We are not
so dissimilar then. New lives constructed
when the disappointments and the blows
bring down the here and nows.
He shows how it is possible, to decide
to continue. To re-emerge, perhaps
never to see the world the same again.
The walks, though unfamiliar , unnerving
still contain smells too exciting to ignore.
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