May 16: Back to Work, Lost Dog, New Poem

I won't lie to you.  It was difficult getting back in the saddle this morning.  Getting up at 4:15 a.m. was tough.  But, of course, I dragged my ass out of bed, showered, and drove to work.  The first few hours were even tougher, but I worked through my exhaustion.  I think all of the stress and excitement of the trip finally caught up with me.  On top of that, usually Mondays are fairly slow.  Not this Monday.  The phone was ringing.  The FAX machine was humming.  And I was sucking down Diet Mountain Dew faster than the Titanic took on water.

However, I made it through the morning.  After lunch, I decided to go for a run, since I have meetings tonight at church.  I won't have time after work to run.  As I followed my normal running route around the college campus, I came upon a little dachshund standing in the middle of the street in front of a really big car.  The car wasn't moving.  The dog wasn't moving.  I really wanted to finish my run, but my friggin' conscience wouldn't let me.  So I went and scooped the dog up.  Then I spent ten minutes knocking on doors around the neighborhood, trying to find the dog's owner.  No luck.  I walked back to the medical office at which I work.  I got the dog some water and a blanket.  Then I called the police.  The city animal control officer came and picked the little guy up.

That has been my day, so far.  I have a new poem.  It is about the little lost dog, sort of.  I just wrote it a little while ago, so be kind.

Just call me Saint Marty of Assisi.



Unfortunately, I don't look good in brown

 Assisi

They say Francis used to preach
To olive trees filled with meadowlarks,
Sang to them so sweetly, they filled
The air around him with the flutter
Of wing and heart and breath.
They say Francis crawled into the den
Of a man-eating wolf, traced
A cross on its forehead, tamed
Its hunger with his long fingers,
His voice of sunset, night, rest.
They say, when Francis lay dying,
He praised his donkey, thanked it
For bearing him over rock, through
Storm and heat, for never tripping
Or braying complaint.  The donkey wept.

As I ran this afternoon, I saw
A dog almost get hit by a Toyota.
It was a miniature dachshund,
Gray around the muzzle.  It shivered
Before the car as I walked over.
The dog stared up at me, and I could see
Fear, wild as blueberries or lightning,
In its eyes.  For a moment, I thought
It would sink its teeth into the flesh
Of my ankle.  Then I began to speak,
The way, I imagine, Francis always
Spoke, with the sound of God's feet
Walking through Eden's grass at dusk.
I reached down, picked up the dog.
It leaned into my heartbeat
As I walked and spoke, petted
Its black head.  The birds of Assisi swooped,
Danced, blessed the afternoon sunlight.