Lost Dogs (Part 1)
Early 1975 in Dallesport Washington,
a dust bowl with one lone grocery store;
now permanently closed.
A town so small there's not even a tavern.
Among the hidden natural splendor is a small airport.
I spent many hours talking with the man in the tower
and the airport manager, who to my delight,
twice took me up in his two-seater.
When not at the airport, or bored watching TV,
I spent many hours wandering, alone or with my brother,
along the banks of The Columbia River.
One day at recess in the schoolyard,
there was a hungry dog begging for food and attention.
Sunk in stomach and ribs protruding,
the dog wandered from kid to kid, tail wagging.
A few of us felt sorry and gave her some of our lunch.
With joy breaking though she followed me home after school.
I asked mom if I could keep her.
"That ugly dog, why on earth would you want her?"
I had no answer, I just did.
To Mom's protest and disdain
I continued to feed her and claimed her as my own.
Day after day Dog and I walked and played.
Often we wandered through tall grass of the fields all around.
We walked to the cliffs and caves of The Columbia,
and to the dunes by The Bridge crossing the turbulent water
coming from The Dalles Dam.
A Doberman mixed bread with long tail and floppy ears,
not pretty but I loved her anyway.
It was nice having a dog again.
It took time and a lot of love but soon Dog filled out,
her ribs no longer so prominent.
Spring came and Dog mated with a pack of local mutts.
A few months later out came twelve pups.
Soon after, my brother and I went north by Greyhound Bus,
to see aunt Donna get married and visit with family.
When my brother and I came back,
Dog was gone.
Mom said she had gotten distemper and had to be put down.
I missed Dog very much but her pups were still around,
now a few weeks older and running all about.
I picked a favorite, the prettiest of the litter,
a fluffy gray male with a band of white around the neck.
A couple weeks later, to my dismay,
an older neighbor kid picked that same pup.
I was required to pick another.
My second pick was not as pretty,
but it did not take long to love her.
After all, she looked like her mother.
Short black fur with brown down her chest
and the in-sides of her legs.
And two brown patches above her eyes.
If her ears had been trimmed, and her tail bobbed,
she would look Doberman.
Not long after, while out alone exploring,
some of Mom's friends gathered all the pups
for target practice.
All but one,
my brother and two sisters hid my pick under the house,
saving my pup while losing theirs.
Her tail wagging, I hugged and pet her.
I wondered if she had any idea of what she had been spared.
By Michael A. Crane, Jr.
Original Version: February 8, 2000
Version 9: January 10, 2004
www.maini-verse.com
|
