Gift of a Good Little Girl

After brooding on many deaths 
I decided to take a walk 
in the bright winter sun
before it steals away 
for the coming night.

The wind is blowing 
harsh, delivering 
a muddle of birdsong,
cacophonies of voices,
mostly from behind,
one or two familiar,
but only one voice,
now in front, was
clear and distinct. 

A little dog, maybe, 
a chi or a  pomie,
was jumping on my leg,
yapping an abundance 
of love to my face

I stroke her ear,
smile back,
hoping she would 
jump eagerly 
into my arms,
this good little girl.

And, she does,
her body 
warm and comfortable,
bringing back feelings
I’ve thought I lost.

“No jumping, sweetie!
No jumping, dear!”,
the voice of an old woman,
says to this newfound 
precious thing.  

The dog struggles,
wanting to return.
I put her gently on the 
ground, letting her go.

The dog jumps into her arms,
starts kissing her over and over.

“You know she 
just loves EVERYbody!”,
the old woman says.  

I don’t know why,
but I started to cry. 
The most human moment 
of my day was being taken away. 

“Don’t cry,” she says to me.
You see, she’s pregnant. 
She wants to bless you one.”