Monday, December 17, 2012


      Wherever Gypsy finds to plant her pees
      Depends on countless subtle vagaries
      Of scent and sensibility beyond
      My reckoning, to which she may respond
      And do the curtsy she’s gone out to do.

      My job’s to urge her on and to pursue
      Her random amble through the night-lit yard
      Stalking behind her as if keeping guard
      Trying to anticipate just where she’ll squat,
      Never the same place in the whole back lot.

      At last she dips and does her destined chore
      Then plainly pleased she gallops to the door
      Knowing that I’ve in hand her final treat
      For which she has performed this nightly feat.