Nelson, My Dog

Like the cat he scratches the flea camping in fur Unlike the cat he delights in water up to his ears He frolics. He catches a crooked stick – On his back he naps with legs straight up in the air Nelson shudders awake. He responds to love From head to tail. In happiness His front legs march in place And his back legs spark when they push off On a leash he knows his geography For your sake he looks both ways before crossing He sniffs at the sight of a poodle trimmed like a hedge And he trots the street with you second in command In the park, he ponders a squirrel attached to a tree And he shovels a paper cup on his nose He sweeps after himself with his tail And there is no hand that doesn't deserve a lick Note this now, my friends: Nelson can account the heritage of heroic dogs: One, canines lead the blind Two, they enter fire to rescue the child and the child's toy Three, they swim for the drowning Four, they spring at the thief Five, they paddle ponds for the ball that got away Six, for the elderly they walk side by side to the very end Seven, they search for bones but stop when called Eight, they bring mud to all parties Nine, they poke among the ruins of a burnt house Ten, they forgive what you dish out on a plate Nelson is a companion, this much we know And if he were a movie star, he would do his own stunts – O, how he would fly, climb the pant legs of a scoundrel And stand tall rafting on white-water rivers! He has befriended the kingdom of animals: He once ran with wolves but admittedly not very far He stepped two paces into a cave and peeked at the bear He sheltered a kitten He righted the turtle pedaling its stumps on its back Under the wheeling stars he caravanned with the mule He steered sheep over a hill He wisely let the skunk pass He growled at the long-bearded miser He joined ducks quacking with laughter Once he leaped at a pheasant but later whined from guilt Nelson's black nose is a compass in the wilds He knows nature. He has spied spires of summer smoke He circled cold campfires He howled at a gopher and scratched at the moon He doctored his wounds with his tongue He has pawed a star of blood left in snow He regards the fireplace, the embers like blinking cats This too we know about Nelson True, he is sometimes tied to parking meters And sometimes wears the cone of shame from the vet's office But again, he is happiness He presents his belly for a friendly scratch If you call him, he will drop his tennis ball Look up, and come running This muddy friend for life. When you bring your nose To his nose for something like a kiss You can find yourself in his eyes