Fourteen years ago Rose was special.
She would race any dog
Encountered on the beach.
Her advantage was a built in move machine.
She was capable of using any leg as a pivot.
When the game was “catch” Rose
Whether chased by one or six dogs,
Would invariably double back,
Leap one of her pursuers and create utter chaos.
A five or ten second reorganization
Was followed by another attempt
To put the long-legged black mutt
In the “gotcha” column.
Now that mutt has arthritis,
Moments of lost orientation
And cannot walk more than two blocks
Except when the wind is hollering.
That calls her back to 360 degree leaps,
And a need for speed.
It matters not who holds the leash
That person is part of the game
And can expect to be strongly prompted
To counter a chest leap.
This morning our sleepy,
Somewhat deaf, fifteen year old Rose
Heard, saw and felt the call
Of a forty mile-an-hour gale.
It was her time to dance and fly…
A sight I shall remember.
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