The Blind Dog by Margaret V. Doran

The Blind Dog by Margaret V. Doran The Blind Dog

Margaret V.Doran

It had become a ritual,
a game the girls played on Barli.
Trying to catch her unaware,
they would sneak up on her quietly

Then yell "Boo!" at the top of their lungs
just to see her levitate
in a gigantic leap straight up
and land, feet flying, a curious trait,

In a totally different direction and it took
her body a second or two to change course
and catch up with those windmill hooves of hers
to get the whole goat moving from a single source

And we said, "Don't be mean to the goat!"
but she was rarely unsuspecting (if ever)
and was a willing partner in the game:
she enjoyed it; she was very clever

On one particular day, however,
Sarah actually caught her sleeping
and she didn't know the direction of her aggressor
even while she was leaping

So that when those racing feet landed,
they were headed straight at the tormentor.
With no time for anyone to change course,
between Sarah's legs she charged dead center

Sarah's weight added to the force of the momentum
and the continuous scream attached to Barli's back
increased the speed of her perilous flight,
now believing, as it were, she was under attack

And Sarah could not see, directly in their path
(since her vocal crescendo was careening bassackwards to its fate)
the old, blind dog who had lumbered out of his house
confused by such an unearthly commotion he couldn't equate

Nothing could have stopped the inevitable collision
of panic, dog, goat, girl; a little bit of each
in a gigantic dust ball with an occasional glimpse of
hand, paw, hoof, leg, head and a continuous "BLEATWOOFSCREECH. . ."

In the end the dirt settled and as the various
actors extricated themselves, my heart was faint
with laughter and poor old Honcho (who never did figure it out)
lifted his nose in a single, mournful howl of indignant complaint!

Written in response to "The Armadillo" by Elizabeth Bishop.

Updated July 1, 1999
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