My Pet Poems, Barkley

Barkley He was barely nine weeks old When Jim set him down inside the front door And he came in, not timidly To this new home with all its long-established Smells, but he strut forward As if he owned the place. And, so, When it came to choosing his name, we Decided to call this cocker-with-an-attitude Barkley after Charles Barkley Who ran onto courts as if he owned them, Which he did. So like this champion-bred spaniel Who henceforth owned me. This Longest-earred, rare tri-colored prince, Who would lick my fingers one by one, From thumb to pinky and lay guard over me — With his ashes now set waiting To be blown in the wind with mine — always Kept me still as I stroked him, as some others might Turn worry-stones in a pocket, to keep me steady In challenged hours, as our telepathy Spoke without a second’s delay, as if God had planned the timing of Our together, So Barkley would strut on ahead to show me I had nothing to fear. **********. **********. **********. ********* (C)sally Young eslinger 11/2020