Winter on an early Monday morning
along a gravel road beside a dry canal

Around a small bend
with a cold, brisk breeze in my face,
I noticed something dirty white and fluffy
huddled up in the trough of the canal

Was it animal or material?
Was it dead or discarded?

Pondering all this
the strange little mass began to stir
Then, discernible through scruffy tufts of fir,
I found myself starring into the dark eyes of a small dog

Weak and helpless
trying to stay warm in its cold, stark reality

Desperation,
yet hope of escape and survival
The little dog looked weakly along the dry canal
then turned its head slowly to look the other way

Had it been abandoned,
cast out to fend for itself?

Perhaps it had chosen to run away
rather than be dependent and abused
I wanted to show the dog I cared
to take 'm home, feed 'm, wash its matted fur

Or simply scratch its ear
to show that love and compassion did indeed exist

Once again the little dog looked up at me
and decided to make yet another retreat in its wretched life
Climbing to its feet, the little dog lumbered wearily away
pausing every few feet to see if I'd gone away

I called aloud hoping
the little dog would somehow trust me

It did not know how...