We met as a happy accident.
Backyard breeding and puppies galore.
“You’ll need a guardian,” was the rationale.
Yes, that, too. But he has a sunshine soul.
Carmel, honey coat. Mane of gold.
Scratchy whiskers, and magnificent tail.
He’s a mutt, of no value, But this is the truth:
He’s the best dog I’ve had. When I see him, my heart bursts.
When we load up and drive away, he behaves as the keeper of our world.
He sits quietly, but it’s a trick. For in time to pass the old cabin on our long gravel driveway–
*flash* a blur of fur darts past our vehicle.
He’s running ahead, looking back with a grin.
We live in the woods.
That means he often brings me gruesome heads, hoofs and hides hunters discard.
He is delighted with his discoveries.
I have to load the carnage to the dumpster every few months.
Once and only once he killed 3 chickens.
We made him a collar of shame (body of one of the dead birds) to dissuade him from killing again.
He wore his tribal attire with pride and pranced around until sunset.
He sleeps outside.
He’s been sprayed by skunks and he killed and suffered greatly because of a porcupine father who was venturing through our woods.
Coyotes stay away because of this great, gentle giant.
Sometimes when I get home late at night,
The stars shine their brilliant song into the dark, and
He’ll lope his way over to me and use his back as an escort for my right hand
as I walk to our doorstep.
More times than I can count, as I breathe relief of home, I’ve thought, “He’s the best dog.”
