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Watson

“This is a definite, future champion,”
The breeder stated knowingly, as
He’d raised a few.  So, we debated calling him
Sherlock, the royally-held-high detective of all
British literature. “See,” the breeder had added,
“His long ears, nearly touching down
To the ground! A standard for winning!”

But, what we saw in the small, perfectly shiny,
Entirely all-black ball, who lay in Jim’s cupped hands,
Was a character to join our lives, not for showing,
But for loving.  So, we chose to call him
Watson, an endearing side-kick as he joined our home, barely
Even regarding the curiosity of our cats.

We lived on an off-street that led to a large park.
We’d sit on our front stoop while Watson enjoyed
Roaming the front yard on a long rope, then
Come back over to sit beside us, while so many of
The passing cars would pull over to a stop
To call out a statement about the stunning
Beauty of Watson, which we knew and agreed
And cherished as we stayed in dear witness to his every 
Move, as he grew to celebrate his first year.  Then,
As his cocker’ hair grew and fleas came, too, with
The coming of summer, he needed grooming.
So, we took him to the vet where they also did that.
But in that safe choice, destiny turned:
Watson took a hard bite of the groomer’s finger
At the start of a consuming seizure.  At 14-month’s old,
Our sweet gift of living, flowing beauty passed.
The exquisite grace to see a masterwork alive
Still stays before our memories’ eyes 
And endures in our hearts.  Beauty,
Yet the dear beauty lives...
On with us.


**********.         **********.          **********
(C) sally Young eslinger 11/2020

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