Abandoned.
A middle-aged, long-haired, german shepherd.
The damp, humid morning rains softly.
The big dog weeps mucus under the same tree.
Bound by the same heavy rusty chain,
And choking chain collar.
It has been there for years.
Low, green grey leaves are thin.
Droplet peer eagerly through.
The old dog shivers, silently, softly,
Weaker now.
The puppy fluff has long since disappeared.
Along with the owners infatuation.
Black, brown coat is tangled.
Wet clumps, sticky.
The large dog cannot weep.
Mucus is thick and dribbling.
There is no room for tears.
Big tan paws rest heavily on the dew-drop grass.
They are tired now.
Joints are too stiff to raise.
Even to rid itself of the taunting flies.
That squat stubbornly,
On the new pink flesh of its nose.
Continuous raindrops sweetly sting,
Seeping bloody stumps.
Fly infested sores, barely recognised as ears.
As you venture past the tree,
Eyes of an empty rib cage,
Happen to glance at you...hopefully.
Smelling......for food.
Dying......of starvation.
Cautiously...you step closer.
Those eyes open wider.
Swollen pus eyes, deeply black
Softly sensing.
For those eyes will not seek you.
Flies had been busy there.
Rain stops momentarily.
Betwixt the cloud and grey,
The old dog laps at the food you have brought.
Slowly.
Softly, like a kitten.
Too tired to be grateful.
Forgotten how to chew.
Harshly.
You pound on the door of the owner..
But they don't know.
They don't want to know.
They have gone. The sign says "SOLD..."
It is shrouded in dew-drop cobwebs.
It begins to drizzle again.
Slightly,..like snowflakes.
You seek to find the old dog's identification.
But it nearly bites you.
Neck is touchy.
A chain is buried, deeply cutting,
And there is much dried blood.
Ironically, there is a name tag.
"REBEL......
As if the old dog had ever been given the chance......!
Only in earliest puppyhood.
As the sky, again darkens.
Raindrops mingle with the tears in your eyes.
Stabbing pang in your throat.
You angrily clutch the twenty cent piece,
That will be used to call the animal shelter.
They keep them alive for fourteen days...
Sometimes...
But somehow, you wished the old soul,
Had passed away years ago.
And you tend to clench your fists tighter.
When you think of that creatures owner.
Living on higher purchase somewhere,
Complaining of the weather.
And sighing mildly...'What a terribly boring way,
To spend a Saturday afternoon!'...
