by Erin E Elder
Monday, July 28, 2014
Rated "G" by the Author.
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Recent poems by Erin E Elder
Ode to the Night Shift Freight Worker
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This is a poem about all the dogs who want to run, play, and feel loved and included.
Itís hard to swallow when I pull too hard.
Still I forget every day.
Now it is morning and I watch the lady walk across the sidewalk and she says my name.
She makes a kissing sound.
The man, he comes out and he plays stick with me, picking it up and shaking it, enticing me.
I get so excited and I run a few steps to get it. Then I forget again and I
Into the air!
For one beautiful exciting happy moment
I am free!
Then the chain pulls me back
and I remember.
The man pats me on the head and goes back into the house.
The little boy sloshes water from my dirty bowl onto the patio.
He throws some kibble into another bowl. It is okay, but I really want something new for a change.
He roughly pats my head and goes back inside.
Through the window I see him sitting with some flat thing that he stares at for a long time.
I donít know why it is more fun than playing with me.
With me, he can throw sticks to his heartís content.
And I would fly and he would see that.
It would be
cool wonderful funny
and I would lick him and snuggle And he could touch my soft fur.
But he doesnít do that.
I put my nose on the glass door
It leaves little marks.
I look at the happy family having dinner inside
And I just sit here on the scorching pavement.
My water is unbearably scalding in the sun on summer days.
Sometimes the lady puts ice in it.
I like that.
But then she goes away.
I watch her high heels as they scrape along the sidewalk pavement.
I cry from loneliness...
And then the man comes and steps around my piles to throw the stick again.
And for five minutes I forget that I am trapped.
I run and chew the stick and I lick his hand and I wag my tail and I give little jumps so that I donít choke and I lay on my back and he rubs my tummy for a short time.
Then he leaves
and I go to sleep under the bushes because it is cooler.
It feels nice to lie on the soft green grass and listen, just a little bit, to my own snoring.
I like that sound.
Then the little boy comes outside.
Today he has friends and they pet me!
I grab a stick and I run to them and the big one in the blue shirt
Takes the stick and he throws it and I get it and I bring it back and he scratches me behind my ears.
It feels so good and I kick my leg because I canít help it and I hear laughing but it is nice laughing.
The one in the yellow shirt rubs my tummy and then I jump up to lick his face and he laughs
Happy happy laughter.
I start to run and I forget where I am.
This is joy.
Then they start to go inside and I try to run after them and the collar
It chokes me.
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|Reviewed by Andy Turner
Lead in the right hand, doggie walks on the left and the tug, if needed, only puts a tad of pressure on the side of the neck, spec if left loose.
Mans best friend is highly intelligent. Unlike doggies best/worse friend/fiend.
|Reviewed by Ronald Hull
|So poignant so true. This is the life of many dogs whose owners think that chaining their dog is normal and ordinary. My little dog Jazz (you can read about his untimely death here in my stories) was free to run the fenced in yard and my doggie door to inside, but suffered when I was away because he felt lonely, even if he could go to the front fence and bark at the children.
One time I went to my sister's farmhouse when no one was there. In the back of house, Prince, a German shepherd, was lying by his doghouse. The entire area had been worn down to bare dirt. I approached within his chain and he ran to me, grateful for my petting. I noticed that his only playthings were round river rocks. It was pathetic. When I told my brother-in-law, he told me that he had to keep him tied because he was a danger to people coming to the farmyard and surprised that he didn't attack me.
My sister got a miniature poodle to breed. She had only two pups and both died. She started making a mess in the house and my sister banished her to small doghouse and a rope next to the back steps. When I saw the little girl, her fur was very long and straggly, all matted, and she looked terrible. Her dog house was insulated but had no door. It gets down to -30į sometimes in winter. The little girl could climb up on the steps on her rope. One day my sister found that she'd fallen off the steps and hung herself on her rope. Sigh.
|Reviewed by m j hollingshead
poignant read, and I suspect the life of many dogs and even cats,
|Reviewed by Jansen Estrup
|Empathic. I wonder that he isn't allowed to 'talk' to the dogs nearby, to play with them. Dogs are communal critters, like most mammals. They'll accept people, cats, almost any companionship. Chains, as you point out, are brutal. Why even have a pet if that
is its fate?
|Reviewed by Sandie Angel
|I don't know why some people would not let their pets inside their house. You have portrayed a dog's life so well. The people whom it trust fully, who play with him when they wanted some pleasure of their own, who would shown love to him; but yet they left him outside in rain or shine to fight against the weather and the loneliness. Not fair!!!
|Reviewed by Mr. Ed
I cry from loneliness...
I cry too, for all of them. Those chained up in yards, those dumped at shelters, and those being left behind and abandoned like the dogs in my poem this morning.
Far too many pets being abandoned, abused, and forsaken today.
|Reviewed by Ed Matlack
|Damn, but I miss my Rufuz and this poem, while it would'nt have applied to Ruffie and I, still gives me a twinge of regret as I wish he was still here to play with me...he loved the beach as do I...ed
|Reviewed by Patricia Hilliard
|Sweet and sad poem. Reminds me of the dogs I used to have. I look back now and realize I could have done so much more with them.|