ode to the S trio

this has been lying in my notebook, incomplete, for a while. seeing as how I'm still not able to get down to writing, I figured I might as well put the first two up. the third will have to forgive me.

these are short, short poems [??] for the only males who ever have and ever will love me unconditionally - and vice versa.

I love you boys and hope you're running wild with each other in the doggy version of the Elysian fields.

--

Sport the Beagle

he came to us as a tiny ball of fur,
huge elephant ears that we couldn't begin to muster;
large, brown eyes set in tan and white fuzz,
like liquid gold with a puppy smell and energy buzz.

we named him Sport, better known as Sporticus,
he was no-nonsense, loving yet firm, caused no fuss.
you see, he went blind as a baby,
and it left him a little bit more wary.

he added to the chaos that I called home,
he was my rock, his ways were set in stone.
he loved me with all of his heart and giant ears,
that's something that never changed with ill-health or passing years,
he was also partial to those who rubbed his belly,
his fierce snarls and hound howls would reduce to jelly.

Sport had a cream colour, soft, such a soft tummy,
a long, loooonnnggg tail we could spot from even far away.
he loved food almost as much as we loved him,
after epilepsy, eating from the garbage was his biggest sin.

he always warned us of strangers and never ran astray,
he knew he couldn't leave his family for even a day.

i'll always feel sad about the way he went:
catching infection when i was away, then epilepsy,
when i returned after a semester, he was totally spent.

i loved him like i did no other:
you see, Sport and i were very similar.
he went blind, and i got hurt,
he became wary, and i became curt.
but that didn't stop us from loving,
loving with all of our broken heart.

may my Beagle be well-fed and happy,
with his brothers Strike and Sparky.

--

Strike the brindle Boxer

tiny, brown and striped with pure white socks,
that he grew to be the biggest was one big shock.
size didn't matter hough, he was purest of heart,
he couldn't hate any living thing, right from the very start.

his giant brown eyes bowled Ma over as soon as they met,
she was his and he was hers, something she'll never, ever forget.
sure, they loved others too, but she was his Big Momma.

though biggest in size, Strike's brain was disproportionately small:
he never understood our fox terrier's smartness, though he stood so very tall.
as a result, he was often conned into doing stupid things:
marking territory inside his house, running away as a young 'un,
all of which got him scolded by the human beings.

Strike however, loved like it was the only thing that mattered,
if you looked into his eyes, all your logic would be scattered.
he was a gorgeous Boxer brindle who never, ever lost his temper,
maybe a few crows and cats were the only ones who saw him and scampered.

he was the second of the three to leave us:
the way he went, oh boy, caused a lot of fuss.
lots of blood, no eating, skin and bone,
stitches, couldn't stand up, it all left us torn.

he suddenly left us in a flash,
eyes open, tongue hanging, heart still.
i skipped my final college year trip
ran home and fell apart like potato mash.

our gorgeous, much beloved Boxer boy,
we hope you're running amuck with your brothers and toys.