The poetry in a Wolfdog

12 02 2010

I can’t move my blanket. My legs haven’t been stretched out for several hours.
I wake up.
The sleepy wolf at the end of my bed is causing the trouble.
Narrow eyes, tired face.
I can’t move her. She is too sweet.
She is a real piece of art.

The fur kid arrives in the kitchen when I have eaten, gotten dressed and put on make up.
She is still a sleepyhead. Cute.
She takes a look at her food bowl.
Disillusioned she returns to the bedroom to get more sleep.

A kiss and a short hug.
No whining or complaints or she’ll think her mother is sad about the separation, (which she is but hides it), and she’ll tear the house into tiny little pieces.

Getting in the car and take a look at the living room window.
A big wolf like dog is filling the entire windowsill. An observing look in her eyes as she looks out.
She might frighten everybody who ever had the stupid idea of breaking in.

I know she is picked up from our house three hours later.
She is taken care of.
She can play all day, no restrictions, no demands. Just play.

It’s two o’clock in the afternoon. Two hours before I can go home.
I miss her.
Trying to work efficiently and being creative as I should.
I miss her.
Checking the blog, the e-mail, Facebook.
I miss her.
It is six hours ago since I saw her.
I miss her.
I wanna go home to her and play and hug and feel the lovely soft fur under my finger tips. I want to look into her honey brown eyes and kiss her wet snout.

Going home.
The entire logistics are based on priority one: picking up the dog.
Not one minute longer than necessary will I be without her.
And there she is.
My beautiful, silly girl. Jumping up and down as she sees us.
Entering the car and goes to sleep within a minute.
She had a rough day playing.
Takes its tolls on a young kiddo.

As we prepare dinner, my wolf baby observes with great interest.
Raw meet is always desired. Some may fall to the floor.
Her own food is without attraction
As we eat, she lies down and watches us eat.
Boring. Her honey brown eyes shuts and sleeping is the issue – for an hour or so.

Refreshed she wakes up in the middle of the evening.
The most exciting thriller in the TV is forgotten. Working is out of the question.
Pandora van Goverwelle needs her walk and exercise. Now.
„Only a short trip” I tell her.
But the happy girl animates me to walk longer. And longer. And …
Isn’t this the nicest time of the day?
Her amusement, my exercise. Our companionship.

Perhaps the rest of the movie and a lovely bone?
Or a book in the bed and some furry hugs?
And cuddles. More cuddles.
A goodnight kiss on the nose.
Lights off.

I can’t move my blanket. I can’t stretch my legs. But what the heck.

Weekend soon. More walks, less work.
Lots of love. To my Pandora.

Czechoslovakian wolfdog in window

Filling the windowsill