IMG_2815.JPGThe very reincarnation of our childhood dog,


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.




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


For our hearts to heal


Ode to Roxzanne 2002-2017


Wind always weeps on the prairie.
Sounding much like
A lost kitten in tall grass .

This random winter is worsening
The wind screams and howls
Across miles of frozen tundra
Seems there will be no famous Colorado blue sky winter
No breaks in the clouds.
Wisps of flakes whip up every noontide.

Yellow Dog helps sweep the driveway
For the nth time.
fog and whispering from low cirrus
Suddenly turns to rage
screeching from the north
like an angry atonal twister
The 50 mile an hour
Wind either excites or disorients Yellow Dog
and he disappears into haze.

I replay a video over an over
Of me standing on the walk
Screaming into the unrelenting snow .
Auntie Em calling for Dorothy
In a Kansas quake
but my voice surely can’t be found
In ice and fired flakes.

I wasn’t wearing a coat or boots or glasses.
now I search in my Buffalo Robe coat
But the whole world looks to be
A sprinting Yellow And White Spotted Dog.

A deceptive oneness

he’s certain to know which way is home.
We walk together thousands of times each year.
Along the same four blocks.

The garage fills with snow.
while I am the weeping prairiesong
In a moment the empty drive suddenly drifted a foot
I hold brick wall for security

it’s an old-fashioned Prairie winter
I wonder how all those before us survived
without sidewalks.
Central heat, electric lights, snow tires.

white and white dog suddenly
emerges from nowhere
finding his way home by chorus or cadence.

he’s laughing.
After days of confinement
In the mud room
he’s had quite an outing.
while emptying cars
slide and slip
trying to find their own way home

Anaphoric. An expression which interpretation depends on the previous phrase.