Keeps us warm through the cold winter night
A nest of Shorthairs, all toasty and warm
Curled up in front; they'll stay 'till morn
J, and Woo, and her pups Casco and Mr. B
Their lives are good, "the way it should be"
We brought the pups gently into our world
And now they toast, contentedly curled
Their lives are so short; they give us their all
How much time left, 'till that "last call"?
We held you at the beginning, we'll hold you at the end
When the needle slips in, my trusted friends
Twitching and sighing, though sound asleep
They never complain, not even a peep
Belly to back, they spoon like lovers
I'm cold and jealous, shivering under covers
Will I tear their cozy nest asunder?
How this ends, you needn't wonder!!!
What adventures await us, I don't yet know
But tonite we sleep, nose to toe
Sweet dreams, little ones…
by: Steve Marcq
A (very) short story, by
Steve Marcq
It is a cool, breezy, clear October
afternoon; Jenny, Flash and I have been hunting hard for several
hours. The two dogs are working together as a team - this season, our
third, I get the strong sense that somehow they've figured it all out
and come to some understanding amongst themselves. They are hunting;
I see visual evidence, the consciousness right in front of me - they
work at a perfect range, Flash in closer, Jenny covering more ground.
Looking towards each other, working the cover systematically and
thoroughly, taking direction from me. Flash is a bull, always the
first one into the thick cover and the last one out, with the bloody
tongue to prove it. Jenny, lean and lithe, covering open ground like
a thoroughbred. Suddenly the dogs start getting birdy; lower to the
ground, intense and purposeful. Anticipation builds, as the three of
us know what's coming. Flash whirls and slams into a quivering
intense point along a line of brambles and poplar - I move closer;
easy girl, easy - Jenny hears me and comes around - she sees Flash
and skids to a stop, honoring her sis, stubby tails vibrating in
harmony to a tune only they can hear. Both dogs sneak a glance at me
with plaintive, self, conscious look in their eyes - "have we waited
long enough?" I look around at the scene spread before me - the blue
sky , the autumn golds and reds, one shorthair backing the other's
point, and realize there is no one to see this fine picture but me
and the dogs - it's like we're all alone in the world. After making
the four of us wait long as I dare, I quietly caution the girls one
last time and step in to flush - a blinding, raucous cacophony of
color sound and protest. The Browning rises and barks it's abrupt
answer - the ringneck tumbles through the blue sky, dogs en route...
Bird in bag, meal to come, I allow myself to feel sad for a moment.
Part of being human, I like to think. After all, we killed something
today - did we spoil something, or did we create something? I'll
ponder it later, not too much later, as my time is coming too. No
matter. I know the three of us created a memory today, a memory more
vivid than any picture. No camera, no film, but a memory burned into
my mind of that perfect, private moment, our "moment in time".
