companion dogs

Rocks

IMG_2815.JPGThe very reincarnation of our childhood dog,

Clancey

Part pit bull, part beagle

She snarled at Gin and I

When we patted her in the  shelter visiting room.

Made us laugh so loud

Our laughter rang between cinder blocks

Legs-barely 3 inches long and hefty mongrel body.

But how that dog could run

Shelter workers laughing as they narrated how

Two weeks were needed to catch her by baiting her with food

Fried Chicken and fired burritos

Chips and salsa.

It stuck in her mind. Those two weeks

her hunger in life, profound.

Mexican food was her  mainstay for 15 years.

And she ours.

We went through an assortment of names

Oxford, Boxy, Rocks

Settling on Rox.

Which quickly evoked  Roxzannnnnne.

(In deference to Sting)

As she sped without regard to danger to

Yet another garbage dumpster

Or when she ate the armrests off Gin’s new green Honda

Terriers are mostly teeth and bark

Convincing in disguise as Doberman Pinschers

And as lap dogs

Often, it seems, bred for one sterling day.

(like the day two vagabonds tried to get in Ginny’s car

And met the pit bull part)

Those two were of gyspy blood

Rox preferring car over kennel

Except for an occasional flight of will.

Each

Was

hers.

Our dogs become our children

When our children are absent.

Our companions

Soul mates

Life savers

To our dogs, We become gods.

They ease the lonely days

Listening to our deepest fears

All the while

We know

an indelicate human versus dog year formula

They are merely rentals

Not owned.

Yet, always the optimists

We find ourselves

In animal shelter parking lots

Waiting

For our hearts to heal

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Ode to Roxzanne 2002-2017