A narrow set of stairs, open on one side,
Goes down into the basement by the washing machine.
When she was little she'd watch me do laundry,
Standing sideways on the stairs, where we were eye-to-eye.
She liked being up there - I'd pet her,
It was bonding, the age-old connection between dogs and people.
Now she's big, she's so big she doesn't fit -
Gravity tries to pull her off the side or to the bottom.
It's hilarious how she contorts herself, putting all paws together,
Dancing and stuttering - trying to be entirely on that one stair tread.
I have to go around, up, and hug her -
"Oh, aren't you something...”
Things are good now; she’s a great dog,
Yet I guess I miss those days too.
Copyright © Doug Vinson | Year Posted 2017