His bark is like a clogging drain <br />the scent of food will make him drool. <br />some folk may say, just one old dog, <br />but he’s much more, he’s Mr cool. <br /> <br />Be gentle when you stroke him, <br />the slightest touch might overwhelm. <br />Make light the sweet endearment, <br />for pride is master of his realm <br /> <br />Walk slowly, match his weary step <br />The instinct burns to keep you safe, <br />commands his presence by your side. <br />pours oil on fragile bones that chafe <br /> <br />Be quick to catch him should he fall <br />age merely fodder for contempt <br />his eyes will overflow with shame <br />to sprawl the very last thing meant <br /> <br />Lean close to whisper cheek to jowl, <br />of battle wounds, of lightening speed. <br />White tennis balls and canine brawls, <br />a coat enmeshed with sticky seed <br /> <br />But in the end death makes a claim <br />and you will have to say goodbye <br />Pay what is due for years of love. <br />Life ends and heartache makes us cry. <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />Roan Jan.2009<br /><br />Ann Beard<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/mr-cool-monty-1st-jan1995-4th-aug-2009/
