One Tough Dog

The dog had been shot 
and knew of pain-

the bullet that enters 
from a mean master 
dishing out daily 
doses of cruelty. 

The dog, 
had slinked
away to die, 
but lived— 

the bullet scared over, 
resting perilously 
close to his heart,
rubbing silently against 
muscle and bone.

You didn’t find him. 
someone kinder did,
took him to the shelter,
where they cleaned him up,
fed him, 
brought him back
to full health
and put him up
for adoption— 

the bullet still there,
unnoticed,
among the 
black and white fur,
the barrel chest,
stubby legs,
the keen hunter’s nose,
the soulful coal eyes,
the oddity of his existence
of being part black lab 
crammed in a beagle’s body

You adopted him 
from death row,
loving him for years,
enduring his night terrors,
the occasional paralysis,
his nervous markings
and evacuations,
because he was 
above all loyal-kind-loving—
until one day other issues 
forced a non-routine vet visit.

The vet showed you 
the bullet lodged inside
and the disgust for 
the deed and perpetrator
yielded to compassion for 
this gentle, tough beast
who hid this pain so you
would not be aware of it,
so no human be aware of it.

Inside you, you felt something 
round and hallow enter you and 
lodge silently near your heart.

Just now, you realize how 
long and slow and straight
the path had been—
starting with the whine 
that pre-existed you, 
the screams of your wife 
birthing your daughters,
your disease and cure,
all the moving around 
to new cities and careers,
the burial of parents and 
one very good friend.

Soon your wife will feel it
and distantly your daughters-
it being fatally inoperable
and immovable—
forcing all those afflicted to 
live with its harm and pain— 
the only remedy
to witness and ease it in others
the best way they know and can.