Dogs Without Leashes

Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser

Dogs have stories.

People have stories.

~

I saw her in the morning, on one of those

sites on the internet. I had gone for two

months without a dog. That was enough.

In the afternoon, I drove to the shelter,

an hour and a half, and asked to meet her.

A middle-aged woman went to the back,

to the place of cement and shiny metal, of

kennel rows and forlorn once-they-were-wolves

singing out their deep grief and longings.

I waited.

The door opened. She slunk into the room

on her pink belly. I came to my knees

to greet her.

“Hello, pretty girl.”

She urinated on the floor. I lifted my right hand

to the nape of her neck, and began stroking

her soft fur, black and white, all the while saying

lovely things. She trembled and tried to make

herself smaller than her bones were able to go.

Beneath my fingertips, under her tight skin, rolled

hard round pellets, several, put there by a shotgun blast.

Trapped there. Part of her body.

“May I take her for a walk?”

Outside, she strained to the end of the nylon leash,

wild-eyed, scanning the woods and fields,

planning the direction and speed she would go,

should she break from what tethers her to this world.

~

Whenever we go hiking, she runs out ahead of

me on the trail – up the mountain or down. Every

so often she’ll stop, and look back, tongue lolling.

“Are you coming?!” 

“Please, let’s keep going!”

“Yes. I’m coming.”

“I’m coming, pretty girl.”

She runs back down the path towards me, smiling,

coming nearly close enough for me to touch her, but

never close enough. There’s a glint in her eye. Her tail

is wagging. She turns, and bolts off again, full speed

ahead, and around the next bend.

I watch her go.

~

When I went back into the lobby, the woman

behind the counter looked anxious, embarrassed,

perhaps, apologetic.

“We have lots of other dogs,” she said.

“I can bring you several more to meet.”

“No need,” I said, handing her the adoption

form and the fee.

“We understand each other.”

© 2015-2017/Jamie K. Reaser

From "Conversations with Mary"

To be published by Talking Waters Press in 2017

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Coming Home: Now Available!

NOW AVAILABLE...

"In this collection of new poems, Jamie K. Reaser explores the journey and meaning of coming home. She invites the reader along as welcomed guest, witness, and co-walker. The way is demarcated by the themes that define her work: nature and human nature. Whether the poems were inspired by reflections on birthright, a black dog, or someone poaching wild ginseng, Reaser reminds us that the only way to truly come home is to actively love this world – a learning process for every human."

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Winter Solstice

Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser

Sometimes it is the growing darkness

that writes the lines. How foolish we

are to think that we are not bound by

this. The red bird and I are animals. You

would admit to this too, I think. Short days

make for short foraging. It’s not always

about food though. Sometimes, it’s about

finding something else vital that you need to

sustain you. Survive. Joy, for example.

I know people who are starving.

I put out seed for the birds. I have enough to

share and their joy is mine. That’s what the

short days are for – to realize that time is short.

We best receive what is offered and give joy.

“Come! Come! The feeder is full.”

The sun is rising. Make thoughtful haste. 

~ Jamie K. Reaser, Author

Published in "Conversations with Mary: Words of Attention and Devotion"

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