She ran to the gate,
Her old eyes pleaded to be let in,
I looked over her to the young ones
Her nose nudged the side of my knee
The young ones dare not approach,
She nudged my knee again
And her old eyes pleaded to be let in
Again, I looked past her old face.
I called Roo to be my chore dog
He approached his mom, looked and fled
I called him back to me
But, he ran faster away.
I looked down at Tess,
Her silent snarl froze in time
Her eyes warning her son to leave now
Which he did with great passion.
I drew a heavy sign and let her in
Swiftly, as if she was three and spry
Quickly picked up the flock
And brought them to my feet.
She sorted the groups
And ran the backline
I never had to tell her a single command
Remembering she was my better half.
Soon we were done,
Her tongue was long
However, her eyes were bright
And she swaggered to the gate
And she swaggered to the gate
Waited for me at the gate
This time to let her out
And beamed a bright smile at me
And I gave her a pat on her head
I closed the gate behind her
The young ones came running up
This time she greeted them
With a gentle wag of her tail
3 comments:
Beautiful and something we can all relate to. Those old ones sure have a way about them. Thank you.
Beautiful! Too early in the morning for me to be crying though!
Love it. Remembering all of our senior dogs reading it and how they wanted to continue like young right to the end of their life.
Thanks for the post ane memories.
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