FOR THE BIRDS

 

The sheepdogs and I 

were enjoying our evening stroll

on Ludlow Avenue.  

As we neared the Clifton Plaza 

I noticed a sixtysomething man 

in a tan raincoat and plaid cap 

tossing handfuls of sliced white bread 

onto the pavement. 

Duffy, he of the delicate innards, 

snapped up a piece. 

I grabbed for it but he was too quick. 

I complained to the man, 

“You’re throwing garbage on the sidewalk.” 

The bread guy was taken aback. 

“That’s not garbage,” he said indignantly, 

"it’s food for the birds.” 

Gritting my teeth, I countered, 

“Birds don’t like whole slices of white bread.” 

“Oh yes they do, yes they do.” 

“Oh no they don’t, no they don’t.” 

“You just wait and see,” he said. 

We glared at one another. 

Sensing an impasse, 

I shook my head, 

gave my foe my most fearsome stare, 

and the sheepdogs and I 

turned and headed for home. 

I had trouble getting to sleep that night, 

fretting about losing the quarrel. 

However I never did see another 

whole slice of white bread at the Plaza.

Dog Heaven: A Sonnet

The other day I placed a call to Mike

I asked him how it was up there in Heaven

He said he’d found so many things to like

He’s fallen for a Schnauzer who's named Bevin

His brother Duffy then got on the phone 

Heaven’s proving swell for Duffy too

Each morning he awakes to find a bone 

Plus shoes and glasses and other stuff to chew

I mourn the dogs’ departure every day 

They were the very keystone of my life 

It helps a tiny bit with my dismay

To tell myself they’re fine in afterlife 

I’m sad I’ll never have a dog again

Perhaps that’s why I dream of times back then

Dog Loss

Last year we lost the sheepdogs

Mike and Duffy, brothers true

One to cancer, one old age

Pups at heart until the end

Gentle, smart, and full of love

Much joy we’d shared together

Now empty rooms, silence, ghosts

I Wish I Could Sleep Like A Sheepdog

I haven’t slept well for a dozen years

The reasons are vague and mysterious

Bad sleep taps into my primitive fears

I’m scared that I’ll soon be delirious

I used to think it was due to the noise

The sirens whiz by on our street

But noise doesn’t seem to bother the boys     

Their sleep is so deep it’s a treat

The sheepdogs retire at nine o’clock         

Twelve years old, they’re both getting creaky           

I hoist each one up like an eighty-pound rock

I hope they don’t view me as geeky

In bed the dogs are a pleasing sight

They’re such an adorable pack

Mike’s handsome head is snowy white

While Duffy’s right ear is jet black

Mike’s forty inches from nose to tail

And Duffy’s exactly the same             

The bed’s seventy-eight from rail to rail

Such small space for dogs is a shame

The humans climb in with a sense of dread

Katja lies on her side on a slant

I scrunch up my knees with my feet off the bed

The dogs would make room but they can’t

  

Duffy then rests his head on my calf

While Mike leans on top of my back

So heavy and warm I’m prompted to laugh

Though I feel like I’m pinned to a rack

The dogs begin dreaming at two a.m.

They’re chasing the squirrels on the lawn

Their legs are twitching at a high r.p.m.

These dreams keep on going till dawn

Our room often smells like dog perfume

Especially when fur’s wet from rain          

Sometimes a dog makes a gaseous fume

We stop breathing and pray it will wane

Thankfully the dogs don’t bark through the night           

Instead they make whimpers and moans

It’s hard tell if it’s sadness or fright

With dogs there are lots of unknowns

In closing, insomnia’s a mystery

The sheepdogs sleep perfectly fine

We share the same bed, the same history

I’ll have to start drinking more wine

Sheepdog Maturity

When Mike and Duff were very young dogs

They loved to chew on our stuff

They ate twelve pairs of Katja’s clogs

And that was barely enough

They ate my glasses; they ate my keys

Ball point pens would drive them wild

I begged them to stop with endless pleas

But the dogs just nodded and smiled

Now that Duffy and Mike are more mature

They’re content to just nap on the floor

It’s not that clogs have lost their allure

It’s that chewing’s become such a bore

So that’s the end of my story for now

The dogs would say more if they only knew how