A Dog's Life

Old Buster was not a docile creature,
Though doggie naps were his specialty.
He loved to run and romp and play through
Wood bordered meadows and pastures unending
Where rabbits and squirrels were tests for his speed
That seemed unbounded by all human measure.
No dog in six counties could match his pace.

Totally loyal to family familiars.
Even the cats with which he was raised
Were his to defend if a stranger should pass
Through his yard with a cold-hearted sinister leer.
Visitors knew when they pulled in the driveway
To wait in safe confines if Buster was near.
His bark not a bark, but the baying of madness,
Like hounds of the Baskervilles cast toward the moon,
Quieted only by Master's command
To calm acquiescence and cautious resolve;
Yet staying the sentinel, keeping his watch
Until firmly assured that no harm was in store.

Sadly, old Buster had one fatal flaw.
He loved to go chasing the whining of wheels.
We buried him there near the side of the road
Where he runs forever in Heaven's fields.

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