Oral Bard

Every dog we have rescued seems to go through the same anxious process for the first few days.  This was Toby’s reaction to his new home, some eleven years ago.  There is a clue to his breed for those interested in such things.

Still, curled, much lined and wrinkled face,
Now quietly twitching, a dog-day dream;
His butter-coated, cream-bathed body
Whose trust in us meant life itself.

Worm-ridden cage revealed his plight,
Restraint, uncertainty, combined
To emphasise his prisoner’s lot,
For which the crime, his birth.

Two nights of hyperventilation,
The replays of his wilder world
Slowed to our domestic pace,
But were not yet contentment.

He feeds, he sleeps, accepts his lot:
Up – feed; walk – sleep; feed – bed; repeat.
A claustrophobic, dull routine
From which we both,  at times, escape.