A Dog and Thunder

A Dog and Thunder. I hear thunder it’s nearing, the dog, not looked after, whimpers; this ancient fears of Odin’s horse hooves, sparks from the gloomy sky- Thor, is no better with his loud, idiotic thunder trying to steal his father’s ire. How to tell the dog its chances of getting, hit is remote? I open the gate it runs into the shed and curls up on a rug I was about to throw away as it threadbare and full of holes; it was new once, admired for it colour and pattern. That’s the way of everything that’s why I only buy old bangers. There is nothing as sad as a hounded and ignored dog, it avoids eye contact fearful I might change my mind and throw it out. The owner of the dog is a man of uncertain anger if I offer to adopt it he might shot it as he did with another dog of when it was futile as a hunter of rabbits. My cowardice is endless to confront a man with guns on his walls, not me! I feed the poor cur, but never let into the house it must understand that I’m not a master... just its friend.