About a year ago I wrote about losing my beloved dog Stella. I was only 45 days without a dog and there was Sunny. She's an affectionate, energetic rescue. I think rescues seem to spend their lives showing their gratitude for giving them a home. We've had our challenges but the great thing about Sunny is that she belongs to both of us. Before, my husband and I had "your dog" and " my dog." But Sunny is ours. She likes to sit in the sunshine too.
She steals the ice cubes from the orchids,
denudes the houseplants of their greenery,
digs holes to China, and eats the birdseed.
She falls off the couch in a cacophony of barking
to warn us of every imagined or real danger and threat
whether human, beast or machine.
She’s a kleptomaniac with a stash under the beds,
a thief of mail and socks and toys,
a supreme counter-surfer, a beggar to the core.
Her silky soft peanut-butter hair
and dogged persistence melts our hearts
through weary ears and our wilting resolve.
She moves stealthily upon the love seat
in her quest to envelope us in her affection,
to come between us and divide us in her favor
with a gentle paw on the arm,
an unblinking stare-down of adoration,
a nudge of devotion too much to resist.
Sunny, of unknown origin, history and breed,
the attention-hyperactivity-deficit of dogs,
the unity in our diversity.
We rescued her from obscurity,
from those who would ignore her canine quirks,
her cinnamon beauty, her animal love.