Pit bulls are her preference, but it’s really
all about ridiculously cute and funny faces.
She scrolls the web for them, sussing
them out with the intense devotion
of a serial killer stalking a victim.
She’s had mutts, a blood hound
and Pits, as well as a few pet rats.
Her love for her animals is only equaled
by their remarkable reveals post-placement
of obscure and bizarre health conditions.
She built a special high chair to prop one pup
upright to eat every tiny, hand-fed meal,
after spending months doling out kibble
as she held her up on her shoulder
like a baby. Some rare digestive disorder
necessitating the small, frequent, vertical
feeds or the dog would have perished.
Her newest adorable addition,
who never managed to master
a leap from floor to furniture
in his first year, now needing hip
Countless trips to the vet for this or that
Illness or injury are the norm for the
kind-hearted Mistress of Cursed Canines.
I watch her drive by, my old dog at my feet
who gets his annual inoculations,
eats, voids, plays and otherwise
goes about his hapless business,
delighted and relieved by his sweet
but unremarkable visage.