Walking the dog

A Poem

It’s time for my power walk. The dog whines and scratches the door and won’t stop. I give in and harness him up, though he’ll barely keep still, no longer a pup.

Every other post and tree begs to be marked, it seems. “Make your mark on the world” is his motto, I agree.

For each stop to sniff, I recall I once heard, “He’s reading the papers.” Kind of absurd!

When walking alone, I would hardly know how many doggies live on each block, but with this guy along, it’s a noisier walk.

We pass a larger pooch; each strains at his leash. The other may bark, but for ours, it’s a lark.

The power walk I planned was not to be. Was I walking him, or was he walking me?