A Bone to Pick
I have heard tell around the dog park,
Of a wonderful tradition called "doggie bags"
Back in the day,
When the folks would go out to find food,
They would actually bring some succulent meats back for us,
in little hot bags or Styrofoam containers.
These meats sometimes would come attached to
Big, chewy, marrowy bones! Bones!
Not fake bones, bleached to protect the rug;
Not pressed rawhide with chicken flavoring sprayed on.
Real, honest to goodness big beefy bones
Just for us.
Last weekend, my Mom left me at home by mistake
When she went to visit Grandma and Grandpa
(She thought I didn't know where she was going—
But, of course I did!)
All day I plotted my revenge: I wasn't going to talk to her,
play fetch with her, walk with her, keep her warm by stretching across the bed
until she is forced to curl up in a tight ball (and thus be very warm!)
None of it!
I would snub her when she came through the door.
Then, she came through the door…
with a package of sweet ambrosia,
ah the smell
like a nest of earth worms in deep,
dark soil in May
I must admit, as soon as she genuflected to me
And handed me that bone…
All was forgiven.
And who could blame me?
Licks til next time,