Bob Ewing

(For Shaggy) He wasn’t big and he wasn’t small. He lived to eat and to chase his ball. His raison d’etre: Fun, fun fun. His single speed was run, run, run. He loved to laugh in his doggish way. To lick my bowl and to have his say. Past fifty years he’s been away and […]

From my litter’s warmth I tumbled to the State’s And I crouched in its bosom until all hope drained. There, cage-confined, I barked and cried and paced. My end: a red-filled syringe and the needle sharp. When I died they rendered me down for fat and bone.