I’m breathing well;

my chocolate lab is not —

my asthma, his throat.

I know how he feels –

inability to breathe

freely and deeply.

Panic lurks close by,

always ready to attack —

shallow breathing, fear.

Our baby Boomer

panting, slurping water,

begging for relief.

Maybe another

doggie prozac will help him

settle down and sleep.

Now I lay me down

to sleep. I pray the Lord

Boomer’s life to keep.

If he should die be-

fore I wake, I pray his soul

to heaven does take.