Sunday, October 18, 2020

The Dogs Of COVID




The dogs are sad

since March

which is usually good dog-walking weather

cool and snappy on a dog’s wet nose

rich with scent, over-full of doggie news


but the dogs quickly sensed 

that something was wrong

their barometers sagged with their tails

a sad indicator

they sense the extreme change in air pressure, like the baby elephant that rescued a little boy from the beach just before the tsunami hit, like the other elephants that bellowed and trumpeted warning tourists and citizens in vain


At first, the dogs were delirious with joy!

Bouncing off walls and sofas and floors!

Mommy’s home! Daddy’s home! This is great! Everybody’s home!

Hugs and kisses and treats and snuggles!


but those walks


The news wasn’t good

the doggie news

that they read on the tree roots, on the corners and curbstones


They sniff, sniff, sniff

sniff again

and slink away sad


not elated and full of fascination like they used to be


No more hugs from passing children

No more cookies or treats or pats from greeting friends

people pull their leashes away


The pointer

doesn’t point any more

he sneaks by hiding behind his long ears

his tail wiping the sidewalk


The ugly rescue dogs

used to be ecstatic to face the world with their mixed breed

all wrong and not cute

suddenly slowed to durges

scraping the ground

with their blunt ears and bony tails


The golden doodle twins

once in training for show

once joyous twin chaos

yanked back by a firm leash


gone, just gone


For a short time in April

the tails seemed to lift like flags no longer half-staff

for no reason at all as dog do, 

for heat or cool, for rain or sun


dropped down again in June


Only one - an English cream golden -

prances in front of her healthy humans, 

masks at their throats, at the ready, just in case they might need a mask,

her head up, her tail high

her long coat flowing like a stallion’s mane


That sheep dog on TV is a clue

confused and fearful, his head jerks back

from the masked girl that cradles his face in her hands


and the dogs that bark at masks


know something is wrong


But, Lou’s got it good

Lou is my spirit dog

a big bull I would name Tony if he were mine

Lou’s got it right


Lou is sleeping through



Lou


©Patricia Goodwin, 2020

Patricia Goodwin is the author of When Two Women Die, about Marblehead legends and true crime and its sequel, Dreamwater, about the Salem witch trials and the vicious 11-year-old pirate Ned Low. Holy Days is her third novel, about the sexual, psychological seduction of Gloria Wisher and her subsequent transformation. Her latest novel is Low Flying, about two women suffering psychologically abusive marriages who find and nurture each other. Her newest poetry books are Telling Time By Apples, And Other Poems About Life On The Remnants of Olde Humphrey Farme, illustrated by the author, and Java Love: Poems of a Coffeehouse.


Within this blog, Patricia writes often about non-fiction subjects that inspire or disturb her, hopefully informing and inspiring people to be happy, healthy and free.



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