When I am ten I see her
now; a beagle I named
Cleo. I wish I could
remember where
where Mom and
Dad got her, but
I can not.
For many years she was
my dog; I think eleven
was her lifetime, so
so she made it to
seventy-seven,
as dog years are
counted. Regardless
of the age she made, she
gladdened me more that I
could ever ask. When I’d
return from school, she’d
greet me in the driveway
with wagging tail and
happy eyes. And that
was well-received.
What of the godsends we
welcome? Those beams
of light that flare our
path. This canine
blessing was for
me a warm embrace;
it was a highlight of my
youth. It seemed that
luxury rushed
through my veins,
knowing that this
dog was mine.
Cleo was a treasure,
canine cool, a master-
piece of good effect.
A value beyond
precious stone,
a beagle I could
call my own.
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