My Pet Poems, First Dog, Blake

Pet Poems, First Dog, Blake No matter, of course, how many times I asked, The answer came, “No!” Thus, At age 9, at the start of summer, I searched Our not especially well-kept house and yard For every scrap and plank of wood I could find, with a borrowing of dad’s Hammer, nails, and, then carrying it all Behind our house, beside the old oak, where I Sat on and crawled over the thousand acorns For the intent hours I spent building ...Yes. It would do. The doghouse I constructed. Then, I sat cross-legged beside it, Refusing to move. Mom said, “She won’t budge. You know what she wants.” Dad surrendered. “I better take her for one.” Our city had no shelters in those days, so We were off to the only pet store where A litter of black/ochre pups was in the window Rolling over one another, waiting for me to choose. Which I did. The soft, eager boy, curled in my lap With short hair, long legs and long tail; with his Black nose pushing up cold and wet to my hand; And his triangular ears perking up above Those fully trusting, black-marble eyes... Fully a mutt. Fully mine. Although dad helped me name him, choosing The name of the teammate Jimmy Blake from The poem “Casey at Bat,” for his little daughter’s Dog: a classic choice and a connection To her father’s love of baseball, Making Blake belong. He lived til I was 22 and away at college, But from that day when I was only 9, when he Became basically my best and only friend,,, I knew nothing of the taking charge of another Life, no more than feeding and letting out. He always tore up the contents of wastebaskets And I spanked him with anger, I confess, It hurts to remember it; he’d periodically run under The bushes to journey off across one Of the busiest city streets, to be gone two days, Leaving us tormented til he returned. Still, I relished thinking I was teaching him everything As I stood or sat beside him looking Out the windows, saying, “What do you see?” And explaining to him then, every person, every Yard, every car near every bird in every tree. However,as I now know, it is each dog that Teaches us, not we who teach them... My first, my Blake, taught me first by the wanting Him, that I am strong and stubborn; plus lessons of How to cherish the holding of the life of another; And altogether how to be a humane human — No little thing — along with learning A loving til it hurts. I wrote for him my first eulogy: “Asleep at last in His unknown grave. He does not know, The tears still flow. Love remains..” ********. *********. *********. ********* (c) sally Young eslinger 1/12/21 Thanks be to God