HONEY

At roughly the same time each day

the barking begins, the call to play.

Anyone can answer, go outside,

grab a ball--any ball will do--

in Honey's mind.  There is only play.

Knowing to the inch how far to throw

the ball, how high to bounce against

the wall, the metal door of the garage,

off the dog-house, the picnic table.

I change the trajectory, forcing 

Honey to watch my hands. When the ball leaves

me behind, she jumps, she runs--sometimes she catches,

sometimes the orange and blue orb

eludes her, skitters into bushes,

drops magically into the water bowl.

(Two points, please!) 

We can do this for hours. Honey never tires,

it seems. Her focus, her enthusiasm

never flags. With ball in hand,

I have her full attention.

 If only she obeyed when no ball

was in sight. at least, for now,

she sits, she waits patiently,

trusting that I'll throw the ball.

Yellow whirlwind, tail wagging,

Honey throws her whole being

into whatever the game might be.

And when I lose track, Honey confidently

hunts under and around any obstacles

just to keep the game going.  She knows

my blindness.  when I bend,  hands on

knees, she knows to stop running in circles

and brings me the ball.

and I know, by the sound of her breathing,

the time she takes to retrieve the ball,

when her energy is almost spent.

I say,"I'm done." And Honey heads inside

without protest.  Maybe she thinks

later we can play some more.

Copyright (c) 2013 by the author