Lyrical Essay

First Day

I close the door to my truck and walk towards the office. Dogs bark and yelp, some jumping up and putting their front paws on the chain link fence dividing the kennels from the walkway. In the last kennel two puppies wrestle around, biting each other mercilessly on the ears and neck.

The three of us pause for a moment and look at each other. They have identical brindle coats, except one of the puppies has white toes. We stare for a moment longer. I blink…

Pouncing, the white toed puppy rolls its sibling onto its back. Puppies squeal and
snarl and legs squirm in the air.

At home, the puppy lays on my stomach. Its white toes rest on my chest and its brown eyes reflect a distorted version of my head. What the hell do I do with this thing now? Why did I get it?

One eye winks at me before the puppy playfully bites me on the nose.




Saving a Life

What’s the point of getting out of bed? It has been another sleepless morning after another sleepless night. I roll over and see big brown eyes staring at me. One eye winks. She can’t be doing that on purpose? Despite my sadness, I smile -

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump

goes a tail on the floor.

Come on, man. I hear you tossing and turning. A paw with white toes lands on the bed. She waits a moment, then her head plops down onto the bed, a shiny nose inches from mine. The sun’s out. Let’s go do something. Get up.

“Alright, Winter,” I say as I get out of bed and look for my hiking boots.




A Moment

The mouth of the stream and the small mountain lake sparkle in the 6 o’clock sun. I kneel down to pump water into my Camelbak. Winter splashes across the shallow stream to sniff around the opposite bank. My friend lays on the ergonomic bank behind me, his hat pulled over eyes.

I look down at my water pump. Twelve hours of hiking make my thoughts…

detached…

meditative…

I look at the mouth of the stream again. A big log lays in the water, jutting into the threshold. Winter walks to the end of the log and sits, facing out over the lake. Her head turns this way and that way as she looks around.

Small breeze tickles…

Sparkles jump…

Leaves sigh…

Stream whispers…

Forest laces nostrils…

An eagle calls…

I sit, watching…

Winter sits, watching…

I wonder what she’s thinking…




Stretching Our Legs

“Hi, dog,” I say as I rattle my keys and open the door. Winter sits three feet from the door, her tail smacking the floor in an athletic heart beat.

“Did you have a boring day?” Her tail smacks harder and faster. I put my school bag on the floor and pick up her collar. Winter does a quick circle, stretches her front legs and then her back legs. Then she leans into me, looking for a scratch down. The weight of her makes me take a step backwards.

Outside, she bounces a few times on her front legs, sniffs the front tire of my bike and then looks at me, eyes twinkling in excitement. She does another circle as I mount up. We round the corner and come to the park. She trots on the grass along the street.

“Okay!” I say and we both explode into a sprint. I mash my peddles but her eight hours of sleep, of pent up energy, get the jump on me. Her body lowers and elongates as she covers ten feet in a stride. Bits of grass flick into the air as white paws blur. She is 30 yards in front of me in a wink. Squirrels and cats panic and scramble for cover.

After four blocks we are both panting and smiling.