Sunday Sonnet [on a Monday], #12, 2015


A wet nose, squooshing and prodding, willing

me awake.  A tail wagging and banging,

rhythmic alarm to start the day.  Hanging

leads pendant in waiting, with rain spilling

down the gutters outside.  Damp, yet thrilling

to the four-legged children, tongues hanging

from mouths with eager joy, their paws clanging

bowls in the rush for the door, birds trilling

in the open air until the canine

release: mud flung up, fur soaked through, and my

hands gripping desperate the leads.  No feline

could compare to these dogs, these joys, of mine –

animal tornadoes whose love makes cry

the toughest of men; brings back the small boy.

[Copyright N R Nolan © 2015]

[Image sourced from Imgur]