-- Walking the Dog --

­­John Herlihy

Walking the dog brings about a concession to my pride.

The image of myself in command I must leave aside.

The dog wild to get going and emits a high-pitched whine.

His vision filled with trees, bushes, a wonderland sublime.

He stands behind the door trembling to be set free,

To gambol, frolic and run, his little body filled with glee.

At once the conversation between owner and dog begins.

The owner walks one way, the dog another way, and grins.

Leg up against that tree, hoppity-hop, time to leave his mark,

Oblivious to my every command, with his determination stark.

What begins as a simple argument turns into a full debate.

In seeing another dog in the distance, he sees a potential mate.

There is no stopping him, standing at attention, of me oblivious,

Pulling on the leash, choking and yapping, his intentions serious.

No concessions, sudden capitulations, obstinacy in the face of reason,

The solitude of the house dog given free rein during mating season.

Now I am gamboling ahead, running after him, no way not to laugh,

The dog in his zone, at the height of his powers, feeling as a lark.

The other dog whispers, lays down on its back, paws hanging limp,

While my dog stands over it, stiff and bristly, looking at this wimp.

He sniffs and prods his way around, getting the lay of the land,

He is now in his element, his every wish there at his command.

I could go on in greater detail, but what would be the point?

Nature always takes its own course and does our days anoint.

Ah, to be a dog, frothing at the bit, ready to take his walk.

The master resigned to his fate, leash in hand, unable to balk.

- - - - - -

Copyright © John Herlihy

Thursday 19 November 2020