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The realization that comes with an injury, is that the impact of the injury is not just isolated to the one who is injured, but impacts the lives of all those in the household. Our Boxerdore dog, Belle (yes, she has the face of a Labradore, the upper body coloring of a Labrador, and the ear of a Harry Potter house elf, but the rest of her, including her disposition is all Boxer), who loved to jump up on my lap, all of a sudden couldn't do that for a while. The look in her eyes seem to say, "Why am I being punished for you being clumsy and falling?" Hence, this little poem.


You look at me confused, haunches poised to leap upon my lap. Eager to slobber my face with kisses, and for your ears to be scratched. I stop you, arm extended, with a strongly articulated, “No!” Initially, you look confused, then hurt wondering what wrong you have committed. I smile, and pet your head, my smile conveying, “It’s alright. Not yet, but soon.” You turn, and hop up on the leather couch, turning three times, and plop into the nest you created, and, sigh. © 2019, The Book Of Ruth, Robert Charles Wagner. All rights reserved.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2020

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