The Best Dog

They scrape at your footprints with a fingernail,

saying it's muddied their whole day that you,

just trying to get a closer look, leapt from the dirt

to their church clothes. I pat my lap when you

pass by me, hoping you'll muddy my day too.

I press the tiny outlines of your feet

deeper into the cloth, hoping they will stay but knowing

detergent molecules will bear them away. I bury my nose

deep into your curly white hair-not fur-knowing it will

draw out that catch and whistle in my lungs but so

enticed by your dogness I'd rather wheeze than stop.

Your heart murmurs now, and I listen close at your chest,

but can't quite hear what it's murmuring about. Too many

salty snacks maybe, too many tidbits from me to you.

When I pull away you "cute" me, rolling yourself

into pretzel shapes on the couch and hiding your eyes

behind those delicate feet. You're just the kind of

dog I'd like to have forever. Too bad things don't go that

way.

Lisa Kenney

ENGL 266

Reflection on My Little Dog

Fingernails scrape away your footprints

from their church clothes. It's muddied

their whole day that you just tried to get

a closer look. I encourage you, pat my

lap, hoping you'll muddy my day too.

I press the tiny outlines of your feet deeper

into my skirt and hope they will stay,

but know the soiled cloth will be whisked

off to be purified by millions of Purex

molecules.

I ignore my screaming yellow inhaler

and bury my face deep into your curly white

hair, knowing it will draw out that little catch

and whistle in my lungs but so absorbed

in your dogginess I'd rather wheeze than stop.

Your heart murmurs now, and I listen at

Your chest, but can't quite hear what

It's murmuring about. Eighty four dog years

Together, maybe; too many salty snacks from

Me to you.