Of Puppies, Snow & What We Learn As We Go

The waggle of the backside of a dog

The sound of the shaking harness

Puppies born in Alabama

A few gray hairs on their snouts

At five and six years old

But this is the year they stop minding the cold

The bury their noses in the snow to sniff

And pull their head toward the sun

And sniff each other in the rear when they’re done

Both are rescues from different places

Each a unique personality yet with time they take on each other’s faces

One had learned not to guard her food

They other one has learned not to nip my nose

They still bark at what I think is nothing

But who doesn’t still areas in which to grow

I don’t know

Little paw prints in the snow

Noses lifted high to the sun

One of them climbs beneath the blanket, but only on her own terms

If I ask her to come, she’ll usually walk away

But if I wait, neutrality holding sway

Soon she comes and curls and settles in

And if not soon, then later

It reminds of the way detachment with love can help us as a creator