Good Ol' Jack

     I remember Good Ol’ Jack.

He was a golden fellow,

     Though his snout was black.

We loved the curls of hair under his ears

     Until summer came and we shaved them flat.

Buzzed and beautiful he would run through the yard,

     Yet still he’d bring prickly burrs and poison ivy home on his back.

He would poop in the abandoned lot next door,

     Then race to explore private properties, berry patches, and piss-scented deer tracks.

He was a golden fellow, who so often couldn’t care to be mellow,

     But early in the morning, with Grandpa on the porch, we’d play a game of setback

And he’d cuddle your toes with his warm belly and nuzzle his nose in your lap.

     Yes, he was able to sleep, wake up for a snack,

And still sleep most of the day away, waiting until we came home,

     When he’d gallop forward with his tongue in the air, just so we would give his head a pat

Then once he garnered your attention, he’d spin his furry rump around into your face,

     As if anybody, anybody would rather pat that!

When I played the piano, a snappin’ blues tune,

     Mom would clap her hands, stand him up on two legs and dance.

I think of him always and smile when so doing,

     Because I remember Good Ol’ Jack;

He was a boy’s best dog. No dog will ever be as good to me as my dog always will be:

     There are other dogs in the pound, and although no yippy rat or wooly yak

Will ever bring my Good Ol’ Jack back, I have loved most every dog I have seen.

     When I just say hello, give it time and throw it a bone, I have faith I’ll never be alone.

For me, that dog outlined what a dog can be.

     My responsibility is to be happy - to share with mutts the glory of dogliness -

Some lake swims, some card games, some piano dances down the road.

     Thank you, Jack, for the dogly road map you’ve bestowed.

-MANGO