Retard Dog

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I knew this mangy retard of a mutt—
I hated him. I knew him way back when
My parents moved to the village up the hill
And there I am, just wandering by the stream
Along the paths the meadows used to be—
Just minding my own business, like—
And he suddenly comes tearing through the yard
Each bark a bullet, firing on the fangs
All foam-flecked whiteness snapping through the gate—
I nearly pissed my pants I was so scared.
Would have taken off a finger but the rope
Tied round his neck had only so much give.
It was hate at first sniff. I wondered if he smelled
Some patient evil lurking in my soul
He’d tear out as a service to the Lord.
And even as the seasons and the years
Went on and I would wander by his house
That fucking thing would jump around the yard
And yap yap yap, and growling ‘til he’s hoarse.
And day and night, through thunder and the rain
He stood there watching, waiting for my blood.
And I thought of what my nana said, ‘bout how
All wisdom and forgiveness grow with age—
But the only thing this mongrel grew was fleas.
Still yapped and yapped, as dumb as when we’d met.
How do you breed a cretin like that dog?
It looked like there was collie in the mix—
But those are smart. I wondered if his mam
Was drinking during pregnancy; or if
She’d bred with her own brother or her dad—
Such things are not unheard of round these parts.
And though I’d see his master time-to-time
We never spoke. I wouldn’t ever dare
Lock eyes with him, fixed sullen as he glared
A blackened scowl in engine-oil and grease;
And the way he held the torque-wrench told the rest.
And on that silence, tautening like wire
The mutt would loose his volleys as he’d fire
His yap yap grr, and growling ‘til he’s hoarse.
One day though when I wandered past the gate
And silence. Hanging lifeless as the rope
Unmoving on the concrete, frail and limp;
And wondered if his owner—maybe hoped—
Had done the deed with bricks and burlap sack?
But no such luck. Week later, he was back—
Three-legged now. And the patter of his claws
A clumsy waltz, click-clacking on the floor—
Unsteady but relentlessly he surged
And still the same old yapping from his jaws.
And I’ll tell you, I felt sorry for the mutt:
At least a bit. Of course I’d want to mock:
Not barking quite so loudly, are we boy?
Not now they’ve gone and brought you down to heel—
I didn’t though. I’d see that creature limp
And lope along, same fire in his soul
To keep his master safe inside his home.
It was I guess inspiring in a way:
Though he can’t move as quickly as before
Still yap yap yap, and growling til he’s hoarse.
And as the years and seasons passed some more—
My father died; they built a new estate—
The mutt abides. His coat had lost its shine
And moulted like the autumn trees; and though
Those cataracted eyes shone glassy blind—
My scent still sent him baying for my blood.
And though his bark fell phlegmy wheezy whines:
I felt for him. I really really did.
How many years together in the dance
I’d played coquette; he never got the chance
To sink his jaws right savage in my flesh.
Now wasn’t that just selfish? Couldn’t I
Spare one of my ten fingers for his gums?
Two snaggle-teeth can only hurt so much.
He’d kept his station—kept it through his life—
Well wasn’t that the least that I could do?
One day though there was silence once again.
A day, a week: so quietly they passed—
As silent and unmoving as the rope.
As did the dog. At least, so I assume.
And whether he’d succumbed at last to age
Or had a shovel cracked upon his head:
I didn’t ask. Still wouldn’t dare
Distract his master tinkering with his car.
But I almost saw a tear among his sweat—
A hope that he’d done right by his remains,
And laid them to the silence of the earth;
Dumb earthen clods upon his cloddish head.
And wandering through the quiet of the dusk
That sounded his yap-yapping til he’s hoarse
I knew one day I’d hear his voice again:
Not in this life, but distant in the realm
Chasing my soul eternally through hell.