Brown-Eyed GirlMarta Ferguson
Today we lined the hall with chairs, worked her sits, her come-fors, her full reverse. We haven't trained in over a year. But, today? We danced like Ginger and Ginger, I spit-fed her cheddar. She wrinkled her brow, her dog-brain, learned "back" meant to lead with her tail, meant not to stop, not to lay down, but move. Lately, I've caught myself in these Animal Planet fantasies about my next dog, my show dog, my purebred obedience champ who will not bark when I ignore her to watch TV, who will not jump or strain the leash, who will not pee on the window when I'm late and she can see me, almost home, who will never be my big-eyed, my brown-eyed, lonely girl.
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