Stray Thoughts. Rescuing a stray in need, but do we…
By: Gaston King
Tags: Pets, Growth, Survival, Dogs, Poetry

Stray Thoughts

Photo by Daniele Franchi on Unsplash

Lonely miles of isolation and starvation lead to ill plated evenings gripping for moments of warmth.

Moseying down through countless numbers of hills containing grotesque filth, drossy dust, and ruff roughage.

A series of monotone, colorless, constructed facilities lie at what seemed to be an endless amount of high ground.

I skip, gallop, and trot playfully through promises, marking what is now mine on every corner.

I make my way through the pungent patch of grass, and all around the bend of the cement squares.

A tall trifling two-legged freezes in his tracks. I’m startled at the sudden stop and stare received from both sides.

As he moves closer, I face off against the initial thought of fight or flight.

It’s not until he crouches down with trusting eyes and a reassuring hand, that I remember to breathe.

I let fear depart and slump to the ground awaiting his kind-hearted touch.

The two-legged connected the tips of his fingers to the out skirts of my matted coat containing remnants of the hilltop.

He seemed unmoved and unafraid of my existence. He spoke with a concerned tone, asking, “Are you okay? Where is your family?”

The two-legged continued scratching my fur slowly with his nails allowing a foundation of trust.

He looked around, peering out into the distance searching for a former loved one.

Alas, the wind blew with a mysterious lack of candor.

I smelled the similar scent of sustenance nearby, I maneuvered my bony body up toward the large tin cans of garbage searching for a prominent meal.

The two-legged began to move as I glanced back and witnessed a delayed reaction, I jolted after him in hopes to romp and frolic together.

I’d move after him and follow across the towering structures with the blaring sun reigning down.

He’d ask others around about me in hopes of locating a proper origin. Sadly, I appeared to them as a tumbleweed in the wind, while others were frightened by my free spirit.

Doors were opened and an invite inside was assembled. The two-legged rewarded me with interesting treats of meat and water untainted by distilled increments.

We began up a similar hillside together as he protected me from oncoming steel plated four wheelers.

We arrived atop the glorious view and departed within the two-legged four-wheeler.

I was hesitant and apprehensive of the travel but the two-legged rewarded my bravery and understanding with refreshing treats.

My body began to shake as the four-wheeler moved faster and faster, carrying me to parts unknown.

I laid upon the two-legged’s jacket to stabilize a feeling of faith.

Slowing down the dusty road of loud screeches and squawks,

The two-legged placed his hands along my torso and carried me.

It was strange, as if a remedial feeling of trust and confidence from the past was making a full circle.

He delivered me to a gate, one where a feminine two-legged stood waiting carrying a leash and a badge.

The man kissed my forehead for the last first time,

Assuring me that the lonely miles of hiking hillsides were over.

© Gaston King, all rights reserved.