Tara Baby

One day, when your step has become deliberate and slow, you'll happen upon a field and imagine throwing a ball, watching it roll, come to a stop... you'll wait for it to come back—watching, intent, like waiting for the rain on a cloudless blue day... But one day is one day—is a far off dream—today is today and you are awake. Go on ahead, Leave your watch behind on your nightstand—it is well behaved, it will stay and wait for you, for your command. Some days, it can run around on you, mischievously, but today, it will keep your precious time Like a good-natured girl— Like the best little girl. Look up! Here she comes! A rolling cloud, a white bolt of lightning barrelling down from the sky, Mercury's own white wings for paws, she flies, stops, switches on a dime—now darting laser looks at critters on the pine, now a miniature sheriff catching criminals in the act with their scales and green, dispatching the whole gang—the Jurassic Landsharks—drawing her fangs and sinking them like hooks faster than you can say "Canines" or "Tastes like chicken!" And now, just as suddenly, comes sweetness, comes rest, comes the planting of gentle kisses on loving hands, blooming care like a translated caress laying soft upon you—the angel of naps, the divine image of peace, complete, the righteous teacher of perfect, unbothered sleep, fluffing out her cotton face like your favorite pillow with each contented breath. To be as she—at one with herself, at one with her pack, given entirely in love and trust to her family—her world— every affection, by her, received, every massage, every pat, every head scratch, every treat, every kiss, every hug, in turn (and tenfold) given back. The day is young (in dog years and our years). She is patient. She waits on your call, deep in concentration, frozen in anticipation—intent. Her ears raise like hands toward heaven, perfectly tuned, as if she is listening for God... "Tara! Come baby! Bring me the ball!"