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Speedy Couch Potato.

A poem and a tribute to my boy 'Odie', a rescue greyhound.

By Deborah RobinsonPublished 3 years ago 4 min read
2

So, the time came for a dog. There's no such thing as 'the right time', only the time when your heart feels it needs a dog to snuggle in there and make you a better version of yourself. I was working from home, and I had visions of me and the dog having quality, quiet (important for me!) time together. We wanted to rescue, and we'd been to a couple of rescue centres, but nothing fell into place. It wasn't to be just yet.

I began actively looking for a chihuahua, as I'd chatted to owners out and about, and I really liked their faces, their attitudes, and if truth be told, I wanted a dog I could take anywhere with me, thus freeing me up from worrying about a pooch left home while I went out for coffee or shopping. An easily transportable dog, if you like, one I could get one of those shoulder bags for: the ones with the mesh stuff, so it could look out, and breathe, and I could do my thing.

So what I wasn't expecting, while browsing Facebook one evening, was to fall for a brindle face, with large eyes and a pointy nose. I had always loved sight-hounds. I loved 'long dogs' and their elegance. I know, I was looking for the opposite, but something about 'Prince', a 20 month old greyhound looking for a new home, made me think 'I can't let anyone else have him!'

We all went, as a family to see 'Prince', and we fell for him. He was gangly in ways, but totally out of proportion, and 'pumped-up'. He was 'race-fit', and had clearly not been treasured. The rescue had cared for him medically, but his teeth were green, his nails were frighteningly long, and his tail was an afterthought. His glutes were enormous!! And the dip in his back could have held a tennis ball. Yet, there was something about him. He was clearly anxious, and he more interested in other dogs than humans. But, we 'booked' him, and two weeks later, neutered, wormed and fed up a bit, he came to us.

He was extremely shy: the first day I sat by him on the floor, he got up and walked away. He didn't know how to play with toys, take a treat, come for a cuddle or enjoy company. He growled at us a few times, and he was very, very quiet. He also ate a leather builder's glove, a leather collar, and counter-surfed for a while. He's still hungry, but he has more manners now. And his teeth are amazing!

It took a whole year of gentle love, encouragement and understanding for him to come for a cuddle on the sofa. Now he insists, and loves getting as close as possible. We learned, heart-breakingly, that he has a sight condition that will never get better. He can't tolerate 'friendly' dogs, but I don't blame him. We just stay away from dog parks and off-lead areas.

He and I adore each other. He has followed me everywhere since the day we adopted him. If I'm ill, he is uncompromisingly loyal. He is the greediest dog I know, but last year, when I swear I had Covid (before masks and lock-down), he didn't leave my sick bed, even when cooking smells came wafting in from the kitchen.

He doesn't really like to run (seriously), but prefers to sniff every inch and every blade of grass on a walk. He loves to roach (lie upside down) with those wonderful legs stretched above him, and I swear he is as particular as a cat about grooming himself. He'll eat anything except for pineapple, oranges and spinach.

So, I wrote this poem, in tribute to him, and because, why wouldn't I? He makes my life better, and I hope he feels the same about me.

Odin

His large eyes gaze up at me. Hoping.

I'm hungry.

He follows me here, there, back again.

Locked outside a closed bathroom door

He'll pulverise my slipper,

Shaking it in a frenzy

With pent up agitation.

He's denied entry.

Such an elegant boy.

He trots as he walks,

His back rises up and down,

Beautiful, graceful flicks

Of his wrists.

He's a small pony.

But when he sleeps,

Totally at ease,

His gangly limbs are almost a hindrance.

He folds and contorts

Into odd shapes.

Arms raised in salutation,

Lips flopped back revealing

Unnerving teeth.

A sinister grin.

But, once awake,

Again, he follows me,

Un-distracted, un-deterred,

His large, trusting eyes,

Hoping...

Food?

Deborah Robinson.

dog
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About the Creator

Deborah Robinson

I'm new to the 'writing for real' scene. Previously, I've kept my poetry and writing under wraps in a fancy notebook, but now I've decided to give it a proper go!

I hope you enjoy my work.

Thanks, Deborah.

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