Bull Terrier

By | 1 June 2022

Accustomed to a gaze of surly
pre-conception, she was fighting
centuries of straight-up entrapment
caged in the anvil of a nose hard
as a horse pulled to a cantering stop.
The boughs here knock down
on river stones and her snout
bounds through creek water moving
around a warm bow without
a thought for the terror within.
Even my kids see fear in the fur
and the pyramid crease of her head
can’t say much in defence when history
is one rule away from brute force.
Her stick gets lost, and her face flaps
like a flipper and this day may just be
different as the owner (ever on-guard)
stands from a garden picnic
to say yet again she is good with kids.
I raise a hand to quell the deep set
eyes and that long egg of a mind
and see the blunt joy there below
muscle taut to the point of white.

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