Monty’s Tale

I was in Japan when you came home and we did not meet until later.
Your new family picked you out and carefully wrapped you in a blanket.
Snug and warm you soundly slept when they placed you upon the settee.
They decided your name was Monty and began to love you.
In a telephone call I was told of your arrival. I was not pleased. No more pets, I said.
She said that the children had forced her hand. I resigned myself to meeting you.
One week later I was cuddling into a small ball of black and tan fur with a big heart.
I learned your name was Monty and began to love you.
Small, excitable and messy, like the children you came to teach. You wet everywhere.
The little tan eyebrows shifted into a permanently bemused look. Comedy dog.
You licked everyone except me – how did you know I hated that?
Growling a cartoon growl you growled and prowled your new territory.
Running, sliding dog. Crazy dog. Too much to cope with dog. Bad dog (sometimes).
You learned to look up and take in our body language. Perfected that guilty look.
Student of life dog. Outside, meeting other dogs – sniffing every little thing,
chasing leaves, blowing in the breeze. Silly, pulling arm out of socket, dog.
We threw a ball for you. You looked at us and said, I don’t think so.
Off that lead you were a rocket charged, friendly-fire dog.
A jumper and a licker. Everyone that met you loved you and you knew it.
Not for nothing did we call you, “a right wee sook.”
The seaside was a favourite. Running wild, the wind blowing those ears back.
Quickly you became a blackish dot, searching for new horizons. An adventurer.
Soon – too soon perhaps – we walked too slowly to keep up with you, though you
seemed to understand this and always returned to search us out.
The years passed by. All older, not wiser – except for you, that is. Intellidog.
Long walks were replaced by short walks. Rest, more precious. Bigger cuddles.
How things seem to end is less important than how we experience each other.
Monty’s tale will be told for years to come. There is no end, only a beginning.
poem © copyright Brian Shirra 2012

3 thoughts on “Monty’s Tale

  1. We’re into our third year with a very behaviorally similar (to Monty), black and white (mostly black), female, Chihuahua named Topa. After reading your description of Monty I could hardly tell the two apart. Like twins they seem to be. You were lucky to have him! And so are we to have she! 😉

Go on, give me some feedback..

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s