Cali
In the mornings, she fancies
A brisk walk in the ivy, low to the ground.
Her footprints staying hidden by the carpeted mat
As she daintily chooses each step.
She then sniffs along a cement path that curves
Around front stoops to a fence in the back…
Where she can see everything going on down below.
The path along the fence opens up to a cul-de-sac
That she crosses in a graceful trot.
She hops over rubber plants and carefully
Enters the forbidden rose garden
That is filled with dew-soaked, yet fragrant pink pedals.
As she weaves between the flowery bushes
She warily avoids thorny branches and combs the woodchips
With her snout to discover an unknown scent.
In the afternoons, she is game for a three mile trot
That stretches her legs and fills her tummy
With an abundance of fresh air.
As she walks down the street,
On sidewalks and bike lanes,
Her head is tilted up to the cement walls:
Her ears smooth back into Full-Stealth-Mode
As she becomes a cunning con contemplating
A leap to the other side.
So light on her feet, she slips past houses
With dogs in backyards and none of them the wiser.
She dislikes pine needles immensely
And prefers a jagged weave around each pile
To prevent crunching them with her matted paws.
One wrong step and her lovely gait
Transforms into a three-legged hobble
As her foot is stung by a thorn hiding amongst needles.
In the evenings, she wrestles, nipping fingers,
Swinging rope-toy, looking for constant attention.
Get her riled up and the crazy-switch
Clicks –ON– scoot – scoot – scoot
Upstairs,
Downstairs,
On couches and coffee tables, from bed to bed,
Then on the floor with tail straight in the air
And paws stretched out in front as she is ready-to-pounce.
Her tongue hangs out of her mouth and to the side,
With eyes wild and waiting for you to make the next move.
After dinner, she lounges on couches
Resembling nothing at all that is disastrous or destructive.
While lying on her back, tucked in between
Cushions and pillows, she drifts off to sleep
With paws dangling above her and toes fluttering…
The product of puppy dreams.
Copyright © 2008 N.E. Tasker
