On the Prowl

Somewhere around seven-fifteen
a.m. the Lab wakes, shakes and gets
up to go for his morning adventure,
which translates to tinkle and poop.

Halfway through the pine grove,
he stops, lifts a leg and balances
somewhat precariously because
he has three bad legs out of four.

Moving on to the edge of the
little shallow depression which
doesn’t qualify as a true sink
hole, he hesitates, nostrils flar-

ing. Normally, he wanders down
among the dune grass for privacy
to do his business, but he hesitates
on the precipice alert to danger —

deer, coyote, fox, raccoon, squirrel,
chipmunk, bunny rabbit, cat, mouse,
robin rustling in the grass? Arching
his back he lets loose, right there

before God and country and hightails
it back to the house for breakfast
following the hunt, tail wagging —
proud to have been on the prowl.

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