Stray Pup for a Trial Run
What if we learn first as dogs?
Don’t laugh, I mean it.
What if every pup that trots about our parks and cafes and corners are souls in training?
Being offered a taste of humanity’s sweetest notes
That we may see what there is to hope for.
No one will ever seek to understand you so well as this.
Words are no requirement for empathy.
And then to color the contrast of goodness, we bear witness again to our bitterness.
Observers of the weight of it all, free from carrying it.
We are taught to fear, we learn discipline, punishment, and reward. In return, we teach the importance of being outside.
Student, yes. But not only.
What if that’s what it is?
What if this procession of paw to person is the path we all trod?
I tend to worry I must’ve been a stray during my trial run.
I’m not good at staying in one place.
The hand that feeds me is my crime of passion until a new one comes along.
And I scarcely remember where I’ve been.
And as such, I often know not if I’m back where I started or if I’ve found, at last, a good stream to settle by.
Perhaps I could follow my nose like I maybe once did.
Perhaps a rescue I could become yet.
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