First Dog
We had a dog
when I was young
who
lived
to hunt
birds in the fall.
The rest of
the year
she lived
to chase
sparks from
leaf-fueled
backyard bonfires
her brown
and white body
silhouetting
smoky twilight.
She was our
make-believe St. Bernard
who carried
a canteen
of hot chocolate
on snowy
sledding days.
She
carried
first aid
supplies as
we
fought
the Germans
in Belleau Wood.
When we had
been in trouble at school
she would
greet
us at
the back door as if
we were
conquering heroes and
after we
been scolded and
sent to our
room
she would
snuggle with
us on the
bed
a warm hairy
bandage
for our
wounds.
On bright
mornings
with no
school
she ran with
us
chasing our
bicycles
through the
maze of our youth.
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