I’m going to extort one from someone else next week. Meanwhile …

Dog Attack

The nor-wester howls over, trees have fallen.
Two dogs, silent as stealth,
shadow mine into the bush.

Down in the gully, she screams.
They have her rolled in leaf-litter.
The black brute shakes her like moss.

When I roar so hard I’m shaken,
up comes his head; he recalls the century,
remembers he is now a dog.

I clasp her; frail with fright
she is momentarily lighter,
then back it comes, her full weight,
and the wet-iron smell of blood.

Next week I’ll try to put all the links in but you can find the Tuesday poems via Mary’s site,

Oh, btw, she lived. She’s fine and 13 now.