The Joyous Dog

I wait in an old hickory chair,
a chair with patience in it.
A tree-blending van, squeaking a bird's tweet,
drives up the rocky road.
I lope to the green vehicle.
The shadowed window shows
a happy, whimpering dog rattling his crate.
I pick up his loaf-size body.
We clad ourselves with kisses.
 
I hook Rascal to his salsa-red leash.
Thinking freedom, he dashes.
Akk!
His leash comes to an end.
He doesn't give up his routine.
Pulling till I come,
he digs up mysterious sand,
as if he found a chest.
It's only cat smell.
Thinking he's going to find the cat itself,
he still digs.
 
Later, I wade knee-deep,
holding Rascal who dog paddles in mid-air.
I plop him into the lake.
Then I take him out,
still paddling. As in Psalms,
the rocks stay silent, while the trees clap with praise.
We play till the sun tells our happiness
it's time to go.