(For many, the love of a pet lights
a pathway to the Spirit. For that and all
you have meant to your family, Rhett,
thank you and rest in peace!)
He didn’t really like dogs—
at least that’s what he always
insisted to anyone who cared
to listen. Yet when his son’s
mutt would stand before him,
staring with black marble eyes,
tongue loosely flapping
with canine shivers, he never failed
to rub the dog’s head, stroke
under his jaw, pat his side,
scratch behind his ear.
And once in awhile when no one
was paying attention, and Rhett
lay some feet away, the old man would
softly snap his fingers, hand nearly
brushing the floor, and the dog
would come sit by his side
and patiently wait for him
to renew their tenuous affair.
© 2006 Dennis Ference
(Poem first posted 8/4/14.)
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