Tuesday, January 21, 2014

The old dog stands in the falling snow.

Safe in a fenced yard 
he thinks of deep silent woods
filled with smells of deer, elk and squirrel.

He remembers jeep rides
into the mountains,
full of twists and turns,
his barks echoing
off of canyon walls.

He raises his muzzle to the sky
in memory of howls
sung to the Western stars,
when he was young and strong.

He wanders the boundary
of the fenced in space
pausing by the gate
that leads to
out there.

He remembers walks with his humans,
playing fetch with his red ball,
wonderful smelly rolls in cow patties,
and chasing the cats.

He heads through the dog door,
stands ready for a treat,
and makes his way to the couch,
turning round and round,
he sleeps and dreams of big horn sheep. 

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