When Loki passed in late March, it was my first time in 52 years without a dog; part of me had disappeared. I chose a rescue dog – Otis, 14-month-old Shepherd mix who already had lost three homes in his short life. He’s mostly sweet, but a very big, strong “puppy” with a lot to learn. After four weeks here, he’s just started to play....
Tug-o-War Dance
Otis keeps nudging my shoulder, I’m trying
to type but he’s persistent as a dog who’s finally
found his home. Clasped in his wolfish jaws,
a fat stiff length of rope in Xmas colors with ragged
ends. It’s play time! I give in, grab both ends
as he pulls with heft and muscle of a grown dog
and exuberance of a puppy. He knows
the moves. We twist and pendulum back & forth.
He’s rough. I mind my grip. He wraps one
big paw around my shin. We’re swinging, jolting,
bartering & partnering, bonding in the roughest
play I dare. At last, regrouping, he gives slack.
I take it, and step back. The game is done –
at least for now. And the poem
I was trying to type? Oh, it’s been writing itself
in my head and spine, bounce & twist....
~ Taylor Graham
