My Dog Paxton

A poem about a proud dog!

My Dog Paxton

 

Where cedars rust the road

And maples mat the margin

I walk with dogs.

Pluto, Sasha and, old Paxton,

Dead the last and he the lead

Wherever we go by trails of scent.

Bossy he, the border collie cross.

Faces the wind that rustles the leaves

Paces reflections that ripple the puddles

Black and white, there be no cuddles

For him, the alpha dog of sturdy jaw

No scratching of his head, that’s his law.

He will mouth the arm firmly of he who tries.

He is a dead dog that never lies.

Pluto and Sasha seek attention

Look to me, to give direction

Always begging for affection.

Paxton has no demands but to leave him alone

He offers me the friendship of a crystal gazing stone

Where I can sometimes see myself.

He always keeps his sovereignty,

He never stoops to become my servant.

The friendship and mystery of a full moon

With a reserved intimacy

And no exaggerations:

He licks neither my knees nor hand

And chooses which words to understand.

He never invades my clothes with his snout

Or rolls into bed like the others

His confident eyes show a sweet caring for me

A loyalty reserved only for a friend,

In a silent life never demanding.

When he died I planted a cedar tree over his bones

And from that tree we start our walks

Even now, where the cedars rust the road.