me & Crees had a laugh about
the blankets we’d left out for Rosco, homeless hound on the block.
We speculated about
him playing by himself in the daytime,
throwing them into the tall grass,
& sleeping like a dumbass on the concrete at night, or
having his blankets stolen by bigger, smarter dogs without blankets.
the thought of either one was hilarious.
He’s such a little monkey,
or hyena, Crees says,
running around like a dumbass,
chasing frogs, biting flowers, carrying around dead fish from beside the pond
like they were trophies, barking at nothing,
sleeping in the street,
& when he was sick, wheezing, looking mournful,
breaking our hearts, the laughing crying tragicomedy of it all.