My First Pet
Tiny was my first pet and the very same age as I.
With no concept then of life or death, I had no thought she’d die.
A shorthaired, fox terrier dog, with black spots on coat of white,
she was with me when I learned to walk and stayed with me day and night.
Her breed was bred for ground hunting, all badgers need beware.
She’d dig her way into their dens and trap them in their lair.
I didn’t want her hunting them, but she would disobey.
Daddy told me not to blame her, it was just her terrier way.
She would wait for me so patiently when I spent my time in school,
and greet me with a furious wag, so happy she would drool.
And so it went for thirteen years. She was my little pal.
She loved all of the family, but I was her special gal.
She became deaf in her old age, although I didn’t know it.
She was so good at reading minds, she truly didn’t show it.
One day she wandered on the road and didn’t hear the car
that in younger years she would have heard when coming from afar.
I missed my special little friend, and long and hard I cried.
That I'd lost a part of my young life, simply could not be denied.
We buried her there on the old farm where in life she liked to roam
and every badger thereabouts was safer in his home.
Since then I have had many dogs and though I loved the rest,
since Tiny was my very first, perhaps I loved her best.
.
Copyright © Joyce Johnson | Year Posted 2011
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