The point at which I knew Taffy was
the perfect bet was not because of a trick,
nor a whisper (a la Cesar Milan).
For a spaniel, her shape was odd.
She could pack on pounds begging for cookies,
going from one family member at a time.
Once, she ate string, and she sat still
as I eased it back out of her mouth,
her breath not what one would wish for in a dog.
Her coat didn’t shine, and she had
a lifelong taste for running in the back forty
to roll in dead things, then eat them.
But one night, Taffy laid down
on my lap when I was feeling quite sad.
She gently put one paw on my hand.
And I melted into a puddle of mush.
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For The Sunday Whirl: Trick, Pack, Point, Whisper, Smell, Shape, Shine, Taste, Wish, String, Pet, Paw.
Also with my Poetic Peeps, Poets United.