Didn't get home until nearly two last night, and I was a little marinated. Sorry. Here's the poem. Oops, I mean draft. Have I said draft ten thousand times this month yet?
Final victory: Ninth victory:
I thought the time might be right.
I laid down on the ground, on his level,
to make of myself less a threat,
and sure enough, gods be praised,
he began to climb his awkward mangy body
all over my face, giving kisses out wildly;
it was then I was allowed to pet him.
As I was walking away, him chasing behind,
tail wagging, he jumped up and placed
both paws on my leg and pushed.
He initiated contact, you see.
While he was eating out of my hand,
I allowed my thumb to carefully, slowly
graze the side of his puppy face and he
pretended not to notice.
One afternoon after the meal and I
was walking back to my door,
he actually followed me, chased
me even, tail wagging.
The day I tried holding food in my hand
and he cautiously ate out of it before
running back into the alley.
When my car pulled up, his tiny matted tail,
previously perma-tucked, popped up and
When I threw the food closer and closer,
he came closer and closer to get it,
even if he snapped at my hand when it was
too near for comfort.
He came back
every single day
at exactly three forty
when I got home from work.
the alley alongside