Road Dog

 

Road Dog

We’re driving fast through farmland
when a roadside man waves his arms:
Slow down! Slow down! A dog, mid-highway.
I stop, blocking the road, turn on flashers.
Rose leaps out. I join her. We’re dog people.

Rose can’t catch the dog.
The man is shouting “Grab her! Grab her!”
By size and shape the dog is a shepherd,
colored like a beagle, looking friendly as heck
but confused and frantic.

I suspect this shep-beagle just wants
somebody to tell her what to do,
so I crouch and call “Come!”
From the center of the highway she runs
straight to my outstretched hands.
I seize the collar and command “Sit!”
She sits.

The man waddles over and takes her by the collar.
He’s overweight, bald with a white beard, bad hips.
He says, “I know where she belongs.”

Now I check on the cars behind my flashers,
engines idling. Drivers waiting.
Are they annoyed?
Nope. Big smiles.
Dog people.

…..

From my book Foggy Dog
First published in Your Daily Poem. Thank you Jayne Jauden Ferrer, editor
Photo by Sajaggg on Pixabay