NICK
May 5, 1992 - April 15, 2004
What a dog, this Nick,
Springer by birth,
saint by nature.
All heart,
though with a murmer . . .
the reason for his panting
like a locomotive
pulling up a steep grade.
Nick, the sissy,
seeking safety and snuggles
during thunder storms.
Begs for ear rubs,
butt scratchings
with cuddling off limits,
despite repeated reassurance
it is okay for guys to hug.
Nick’s big brown eyes
could melt your heart,
his breath
could stop a charging bull.
His snores
would surely wake the dead.
Old Nick, what a dog!
Can’t help but smell ‘em,
can’t help but love ‘em.
©2004 Robert W. Birch
The poem Nick appears within the "Critter" section of Rhubarb Pie