—Poems and Photos by Carol Louise Moon, Placerville, CA
The internet informs that
Miniature Pinschers are fastidious,
a fact that bears out in my dog’s life.
He is a short hair; so am I.
He is fastidious, and I am
fascinated by this.
Barkley is a black and tan, miniature
Doberman with a pink tongue.
He looks fierce until observed
industriously licking the kitchen
floor with his little pink tongue.
He displays pride of ownership,
owning our bedroom with its
clean tile floor and soft green
Does he know that, two
houses down, there’s a small dog
living in backyard dirt?
Be kind. Don’t tell him.
BARKLEY AND THE PLAID SUITCASE
A plaid suitcase holds his clean
blankets and two small sheets.
Beside this, a small container
of munchables, treats for when
he is his better self.
The clock on the wall ticks out
a steady beat as warm sun
cracks between curtains in
this blue motel room.
Inside a large crate there, he sits,
bedding dry and warm. He
mulls over his many thoughts,
and sighs, peeking out the metal
This strong-legged, perked-eared
little black dog used to be the
Alpha among people. But now
the Second Beta, he sits quietly
being his better self, waiting for
the exercise hour on a sunny
deck or a green motel lawn.
Munchables (he can almost
taste) in a tight-lid plastic
container still sit beside his
plaid suitcase. He’s done with
this vacation and wants to
go home to begin a vacation
of his own making.
OUR GUARD DOG
Our guard dog sits by venetian doors
basking in taffy light, a fraction of the
light shining past the nursery. His bark,
as if wind through gloved-muzzle,
would merely waft to the garden from
this balcony. Below, the garden pin-
wheel near potted plants, the buttoned-
down shirt drying on the line are
witnesses to his vigilance in guarding
our napping toddler.
Our shepherd sniffles and snorts as if
guarding a cave entrance from the
intrusion of sunlight. But look... the
garden hose, now a fountain, threatens
to flood our neighbor’s terraced yard.
It has already washed away a weed pile,
uprooted poppies, and floated a baseball
glove. Where will dog and toddler play
following this midday catastrophe?
IRISH WOLF HOUNDS
Grandpa tells me that these two
companions sitting on his front
porch have been around for
He tells me that the green hills of
Ireland where they roamed for
centuries, no elk could survive.
He tells me that even the wolf
fought and lost battles with these
magnificent creatures. Large with
wiry gray hair, a caveman-skull of
a dog’s head, long lumbering legs...
his Irish Wolf Hounds are his pride
and my amazement.
IN CAUTIOUS TIMES
In times like these dark times, anxious
men and women of the land will pace.
Back and forth, and forth and back,
like the endless cogs of machinery.
To what the purpose, now? We spoke,
believed the best of fellow man and friends.
But what of man’s best friend,
a momentarily forgotten pet.
Anxious Rex, seated near an open cottage
window, looks as if to see a horseman
plodding up the path. Perhaps he bears
news of food, with cautious dogs in tow.
But what becomes of us, we ask.
In silence Rex now meditates, replies—
his steady out-of-window gaze
signals us to hope for better days.
THE BLACK PURSE
—Carol Louise Moon
black of little Blacky’s coat
black of morning coffee grounds
black of Blacky’s beady eyes
black hands of the kitchen clock;
black, the numbers ten and noon
black, the back of a napping dog
black, the purse which holds
yellow bits of kibble for
Blacky, the waking, stretching dog
A big thank-you to Carol Louise Moon and Barkley today for these dog-gone fine poems and pix!
—Medusa (Celebrate Poetry!)
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.