Dogs

They are a unique species. 

No animal comes in so many varieties. 

From the St Bernard to the scruffy Mutt, 

to the little Jack Russell, each has its own personality.

They each possess so many abilities. 

Police dog, companion, Blind dog, 

specifically trained therapy dogs for PTSD, 

Epilepsy, and even those who help people with CP (Cerebral Palsy),

 to maintain their balance.  

It's been said that even looking into a dog's eyes

 can generate oxytocin- happiness. 

Dogs can calm, exercise, reduce anxiety and depression, 

give you a reason to look after yourself, 

reassure you that they adore you, no matter how bad things get,

or how many times you may fail.

Dogs make our lives better. Thank you God for dogs.

To my beloved old hound.

The Companionship of the Hound

O what a great and quiet joy it is stroll alongside a dog -

your dog.

To experience the simple wonders of nature through the senses -

together.

What a pleasure it is to possess all the five senses.

They operate in perfect harmony -

sight, smell, sound, touch, and taste.

All such senses work together

and when some fail the others prevail,

becoming stronger as they endure.

They make the gradual amble with an aged dog

a far more enjoyable and reflective time

than the otherwise lonesome and energetic jog that it may have been.

Sight: grants one the opportunity to observe one's sensorial surroundings.

Smell: allows you to inhale the fragrance of the flora

and the heavy breath of your dog, pacing patiently beside you.

Sound: enables you to hear the song of the birds and the soft rustle of leaves.

Taste: assists one to taste the fresh air that flows

as a consistent stream into the mouth, landing delicately on the taste buds.

Touch: allows one to feel the fur of the hound

alongside you as you meander along the path.

These things encompass the pleasure of the companionship of the hound.

A companionship that is the very best of friendship;

a friendship that is unique to that of the dog.

Panther of the Night

There is something about the evening that seals the events of the day.

Something in the air, coolly caressing ones mind and body.

Something that provokes nostalgic tendencies.

Something that persuades one to indulge in fantasies and misgivings

(these becoming increasingly vivid as the night progresses).

Something that urgers, coaxes, and convinces one to

submit, forget, lose oneself amongst its untamed and secretive grasp.

These imaginings are so insistent that one simply must, must, yield.

Obey, the soft, gentle, velvet voice of the night.

Listen, to the mournful moaning of the wind.

Rest, in the warmth and fortification of the sheets and blankets,

allowing them to enfold one.

We, who do not bend our thoughts upon the night,

see it not as the dark and dangerous panther.

Even if we do consider such a beast it is as one

behind the bars of shelter as it is and may ever be.

But some see this animal face to face.

Have little protection against its tormenting talons.

They do not have the bars of four walls and such warmth as we.

For they are in the cage with the Panther, they are its prey.

They take cover within the shadows and stones,

that manifest in the formation of newspapers and underneath  shop fronts.

But these are not sufficient to survive such a predator.

Sooner rather than later the Panther prowls and strikes.

They are consumed.

Will one ever have compassion upon these victims?

Of course one will!

Now what will one gain?