moe

the dog was a genius.

a mad genius.
an idiot savant if you'd
prefer.

his vision was such that a plane
in sky
was barkable.

television was his nemesis.
whether a real
or a carton cat or dog,
cow, or bird, any image
of an animal
felt his bite.

he'd circle the set
determined to get what was inside.

put him in a locked cage,
he'd find a way out.

he'd chew through wires, cables,
shoes,
purses, hats and gloves.
hungering for some deep
lack
from his childhood, or inbreeding.

he could read minds, knowing
when you were about to head
out.

it was a love hate
relationship. he crazy as a loon,
but brilliant.

I miss his bark, his hogging of
the bed,
his wagging tail and licks,
though not enough
to get another dog,

at least not too soon.