Excerpts for Little Dog, Lost




Little dog,

lost.

Little black dog with brown paws

and a brown mask

and a sweet ruffle of brown fur on her bum

just beneath her black whip of a tail.

Satiny coat.

Ears like airplane wings

that drop

just at the tips.

She used to be called Buddy

until no one called her anything at all.

"Hey, you!" maybe.

Or "Shoo!"

Names to run from.

Buddy wasn't always lost.

Once she owned a boy.

It was the boy who named her.

("I know she's a girl," he'd say,

"but she's my buddy anyway.")

Her boy threw a ball

again

and again

and again

until Buddy flopped

onto her belly

in the tickling grass

and dropped

the ball

between her paws,

her tongue as limp

as

a

dishrag

Come and get it, her grin always said,

and then I'll chase some more.

The boy used to take Buddy's pointy face

between his hands

and kiss her on the lips,

just like that.

When Buddy was quick,

she could get in a lick

at the exact moment

of the kiss.

The boy would say, "Arghhh!"

and wipe his mouth

with the back of his hand.

Then he'd kiss Buddy

on the lips

again.

In short,

Buddy and her boy

were perfectly matched

and perfectly happy

together.

But nothing,

not even the sweetest love,

can be certain

of lasting

forever.

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