Canine Perspective

Canine Perspective

Prancing in the warm sun. Everything smells good. Vegetation. Trash. Food wafting from houses. A man stands in our way. I growl a warning to my lady. She clucks reassurance and we walk on by. He doesn’t smell so good. Ruins my scent vibe for a moment. But then we come to the hydrant. It’s the only one on our route. It’s my Mecca. My newspaper. My information station. All the neighborhood gossip ripe for the reading. I know she hates standing here so long but I take my time. Swooping pigeons interrupt my concentration, little feathered fools. Where the sidewalk ends, a goathead lodges between my toes. I hobble two steps before my lady lifts me, removes the sticker, and carries me a block. A natty dog rushes me at the park. I bark him a piece of my mind. My lady stops to gather dandelions for the reptile upstairs. I demonstrate my disapproval by flopping in the grass and refusing to move. She carries me the rest of the way home. I growl at the crows on the fence, putting them on notice. I am canine. Hear my bark and scatter, rapscallions. It is a good day. 

 


Poem Walks are focused prose accounts of an experience of walking (or moving through) a familiar place.