Autumn Woofs

Every year on my birthday I write a poem . . . just kidding . . . but this year I did. Perhaps ageing has made me was more poetic . . . or more sentimental? Who knows but if you like autumn mornings and dogs . . . here you go!

On the first crisp autumn morning my window stands open still from summer habit.
Chill air carries the fall noises of the neighborhood through the garden to my bedroom.
The new dog, with fluffy fur, is not used to the sounds and “woof woofs “from his cushion on the floor near the window.
The old dog, with short fur, knows the sounds and “oof oofs” in unison from her spot at my feet.
The new dog, with fluffy fur, “woof woofs” and races out to the garden to guard against the noises.
The old dog, with short fur, “of ofs” and stays to guard my feet against the season’s chill.
The new dog, with fluffy fur, “woof woofs” against the fence as the school bus and the rubbish truck perform their duties in the crisp morning.
The old dog, with short fur, “f fs”, as she nestles deeper, further warming the spot at the foot of my bed.
I hear the new dog’s warning “woofs” and contemplate joining the morning’s duties.
I head the old dogs snoring “sssss” and wish to put the day off for a few more minutes.
I contemplate whether it is wisdom or loyalty, age or fur length that motivates each dog in their duties?
The answer comes as the sun warms the air of the first crisp autumn morning, and the old dog, with short hair, silently joins me as I grab a jacket to go out to hush the new dog, with the fluffy fur , as he “woof woofs” in the garden.

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