Before he could put his

golf clubs in the

backseat,

the big, brown dog

jumped in and

wouldn’t get out.

The man and his wife

pushed and pulled,

tugged and shoved,

to no avail.

The dog jumped to the

front and back to

the back.

Tee time. A final yank

and the dog was out,

with ears lowered and

tail tucked and being

yelled at.

Sad doggie eyes. Human

anger and frustration

when all it would

have taken was,

“Buddy, want a

cookie?”

Driving down the road

he sees a vehicle

coming up fast

and then

riding his tail. Tap

the brakes, offer the

driver the middle

finger, universal sign

of peace, watch the

truck move along

side, see the man

with the smirk on

his face,

watch the truck cut

off the car, see the car

tumbling toward

the ditch, or

just pull to the

side of the road,

let the driver

speed by, look

straight ahead and

drive on.

Aware, he let the

energy pass right

through, he let

go, he let live,

he patted the

dog’s big brown

head and said,

“Good boy,”

to himself as he looked

down and saw the thorn

in his hand, which he had

just pulled

from his side.