Foxy is a shiba princess who languishes
Upon a bed of knotted flannel blankets,
Not a stitch in sight.
At sixteen she forgets
Her beauty, her play, games of fierce biting,
And sleeps upon the floor playing
Princess and the Kibble, a new form of pea.
Ambient rock and roll trades place with lullabies,
Silly made up tunes that almost rhyme.
Sleeping in my arms and rocked, her
Dreams of running in a grassy field
Keep her wiggling in pursuit of time.
Flying off the backstep, in search of
Adventure, the ligatures stretched,
Pulled her arthritis, turned off her will.
Gave her a world of painful hobbling
On three legs unsteady.
We both cried.
Make the decision for her, I heard.
Turned off my ears and hand-fed her
With a stainless steel spoon:
Roasts with marinated carrots,
Basted turkey and tomato soup.
Was the mobile backend jack that kept her up,
Moving during trips to the dreaded vet,
During Ins and Outs of the backdoor
For three months of worried fall.
Her head tilted right with vertigo.
So did mine as I fell. Physical therapy
For the ears set us both straighter,
But slowed our walks.
Month four had her casting
Off her backend help. Abandoned, I smile.
She’s a Princess with a future
Who sings back to me, a two note hum,
Laughs at my jokes and silly
Dances, in the cold brisk winter wind.
Listening to me when no one calls
And my aloneness leans toward
Issues of abandonment.
A proper Princess on a cushion of red,
Who nuzzles my hands, and shores up