Dog onna Bog

Dog on a Bog

We pull down
the dirt road
rutted by rain and rubber.

My furry black shadow
hurtles out
to scent trouble.

He courses ahead
he lingers behind
no leash
at his neck
he's learned how to mind.

I stroll along,
he probes snoot in the grass,
hawks wheel and keen.

My shadow
and I
enjoy blue sky
the bog afloat with cranberries
the golden sand of the road
littered with the spoor
of deer, horses, geese.

He finds something horrid
to munch.

I sight the coyote
before the dog does,
luckily, the wind blows away from us
carrying the scent of domestication
to this denizen of the wild
who glares at us balefully
shaking his black-tipped cream ruff
in disdain.

I lead my charge away,
longing for my camera.